Erik's Little Winter
by Xx.Triple A.xX
Summary: Erik is lying in bed, on the verge of death, when the ratcatcher brings him a young girl with amnesia to take care of. While trying to unravel the mysteries that surround the young girl, can Erik learn to love again? ...This time in a parental sense?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

She sat next to her father, perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the stage below them. She saw the people's motions but she did not observe them; she heard them singing but did not know what they were saying. In the seat next to her, her father leered at a woman in a box across from theirs. She slid an uninterested gaze over the lady; she was wearing an expensive red velvet dress cut to nowhere and excessive jewelry. No wonder Father was looking at her like that.

She sighed heavily, then winced when her father smacked her with his fan.

"Be quiet, brat. Ugly little monsters like you are to be seen, not heard."

She nodded. The red mark across her face stung viciously, but no tear fell from her eye. She had learned a very long time ago that crying resulted in beatings – painful beatings, with long, whippy sticks.

The first act of the opera ended, and her father rose to go visit other boxes, telling her to stay where she was. Even though she knew better, she raised her head in protest.

"But, Father, I -"

He whirled around. "You what? Do you have an opinion on the matter? Little brats like you do not _have_ opinions on subjects. They are told their opinions, and they stick by them."

She stood up and took a step towards him. "But Fath -" She broke off when he shoved her violently backwards.

"Don't come near me!" he said, affecting a horrified expression. "Don't approach! You filthy thing, I don't want you close, do you hear me?"

Aware that they were attracting attention, she stumbled backwards and turned around, only to trip over a chair. Falling forward, she slammed her head against the marble column in the box and fell to the floor. Her father bent over her, to find her bleeding and apparently quite unconscious. He shrugged carelessly.

"Oh well," he murmured, "she'll awaken eventually. If she doesn't, I daresay someone will find her." And with that, he left the box.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 – The Meeting**

Erik was ill. Very ill. He was in bed and had not gotten up to eat, drink, or even play his music for three days. It was a week after his visit to the daroga, and he knew he would not last much longer.

He didn't even bother to get up when the alarm warned him that someone was coming across the lake. He simply lay there in his coffin, his eyes closed, listening to approaching footsteps which then stopped, to be replaced by a voice.

"Erik, I need your help."

Erik recognized the voice of the rat-catcher. "Whatever do you need _my_ help with?"

"It's about…something I found…in Box 5." The rat-catcher's voice was timid and hesitant, like he wasn't sure he ought to tell Erik about it. Erik opened his eyes and sat up, but he did not look at the rat-catcher, instead staring straight ahead into nothingness.

"Box 5 is no longer of interest to me," he said flatly. The rat-catcher moved.

"Yes, well, this should be."

"What should be?"

"Um…you kind of need to come see this."

With a defeated sigh, Erik got out of his coffin and walked with the rat-catcher into the Louis-Philippe room. There, lying on the fainting couch, was the most peculiar girl he had ever seen before in his life. She was about 12 or 13 years of age, with exotically beautiful features and long, stick-straight mercury-colored hair that fell past her hips. Her skin was almost as pale as her hair, with a dull, fading red mark across her face. She looked pathetically small and weak and helpless, and Erik took pity on her as he watched her sleeping on the couch.

"I found her in Box 5," the rat-catcher explained, "shortly after the performance of _Romeo & Juliet_. I didn't know what to do with her, so I brought her down here." He turned to leave, but Erik's restraining hand fell on his shoulder.

"Wait." Erik looked at him. "You can't leave her here. I'm dying…" His voice trailed off.

"That's precisely why I brought her," the rat-catcher replied smartly. "Look here, old boy, nobody ever died of love. If you have something to take care of, maybe you won't be in such a hurry to leave this world behind." And he was gone, leaving Erik to stare at the girl on the couch.

He stared at her for a full ten minutes, just wondering what to do. Then he went and got some smelling salts out of the bathroom, came back, and waved them under her nose.

Her eyes flew open, and he stared at them. They were a startling shade of blue – bright blue, the color of a lake on a sunny day. They were a shocking contrast to the relative paleness of the rest of her face. Even her lips were pale – pale and thin.

"Hello," he said. "You're safe."

She only watched him, unblinking, eyes wide and dominating her face. He took a step back. She sat up.

"I'm Erik," he said cautiously, and watched for a reaction. Nothing. "That's my name."

Still she said nothing. He began to suspect that she was a mute, when he saw something on her face – a thin trickle of blood, running down her cheek. Quickly he came to her side and looked closer. She did nothing, simply staring into space while he examined the small but bloody wound on her head.

"I wonder…" he said, stepping back and taking a long look at her face. "Do you have…amnesia?"

She tilted her head to one side and stared at him some more. He shook his head and held out his hand. When she didn't respond, he leaned forward and, taking her hand, pulled her to her feet.

"Come along, now. That wound needs tending to."

* * *

**A/N:** Have you ever wondered why people in movies with amnesia can't remember anything else, but they can remember how to talk? That always struck me as odd. So, behold. My own version of amnesia. Yay. :) 


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – The Naming**

It was the second day of the girl's arrival at Erik's house. Her wound had been tended and neatly bandaged by Erik, and he had made them some food. She had not eaten at first, instead watching his impeccable table manners, and then she had begun to copy him. Erik found this somewhat amusing. She had, in fact, begun to copy almost everything he did, and had taken to following him around like a little puppy. Sitting in his study one day, he reflected that he could not keep calling her "the girl"; he had to find her a name. He looked over at her – she was quietly tracing the words in one of his books with her finger – and asked curiously,

"What's your name?"

She looked up, her eyes bright and attentive, but she said nothing. He remembered that she had amnesia, and then he realized that she still hadn't spoken in two days. It was not the reclusive silence of someone who had decided not to talk; he suspected that she truly did not remember how.

"A name…" he said, leaning back in his chair and looking thoughtfully at her. "You deserve a special name. You were found under special circumstances, and you even look special." He regarded her silver-white hair, pale skin, and brilliant blue eyes with interest. "You remind me of…winter. Ice and snow and clear blue skies when the sun comes out." His eyes lit up. "That's it! I'll call you Winter!"

She tilted her head to one side and regarded him curiously, but still she didn't speak. He looked at her, frowning behind his mask.

"Can't you say anything?" he asked, not expecting a response, but to his surprise, she spoke.

"Erik."

He stared at her. "Yes?"

"Erik," she said again. This seemed to amuse her greatly. She clapped and bounced up and down as well as she could in her seated position while repeating his name. "Erik, Erik, Erik!"

Erik sat back in his chair and watched her. She watched him back, and they stared at each other for a long time before he smiled.

"Well," he said. "You're Erik's little Winter, aren't you?"

She grinned. "Erik," she agreed happily. He threw back his head and laughed. The rat-catcher had been right.

He felt more alive than he had in a long time.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter kind of sprung from my own longing for winter to hurry up and arrive, plus the fact that sometimes I enjoy bouncing around repeating Erik's name like a sort of chant. It's fun.

**Erik:** You are sadly over-obsessed with me.

**Masque:** Nope, I just like the sound of your name. Erik, Erik, Erik! See? It's fun to say!

**Erik:** (Jabs thumb in Authoress's direction) She's insane.

**Masque:** Why, thank you. I love you too.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – The Singing**

(**A/N:** Just thought I'd get it across that this Erik is the Leroux version, so he can sing the ALW musical/movie songs without tearing up. Why are they there, you may ask? Did he write them? No. I planted them there. I'm the Almost-Almighty Authoress, so I can do that. Muahahaha.)

It was two days after Winter had first spoken and been named. She still couldn't say anything but his name, so Erik had taken up attempting to teach her words. He would repeat them to her multiple times, and she would say them back to him slowly and then promptly forget them. It was a long, hard process, and he needed a break.

He had sent Winter off to bed for a nap – she tired very easily – and now he sat down at the piano in the Louis-Philippe room. Riffling through the pages of music on the music stand, he finally selected one song and began to play, singing as he went.

"_**No more talk of darkness,**_

_** Forget these wide-eyed fears,**_

_** I'm here,**_

_** Nothing can harm you –**_

_** My words will warm and calm you.**_

_** Let me be your freedom,**_

_** Let daylight dry your tears,**_

_** I'm here,**_

_** With you, beside you,**_

_** To guard you and to guide you…**_"

He sighed and frowned at the paper. He didn't like that song. It didn't fit his current mood. He was about to get a sheet of paper and a pen and begin composing when a crash from Winter's bedroom caused him to jump up and go running to see what was the matter.

He entered her bedroom to find a bookshelf knocked over and Winter on the floor, her dress ripped open by the sharp corner of the bookshelf. Running to her side, he made sure she was alright before turning her around to inspect the damage to her dress. What he saw made him inhale sharply – but not because of the rip in the dress. Slowly, he parted the fabric further to better see her back.

Dark crisscrossing scars laced across her back, some more recent than others. They were clearly the marks left by a whip, or perhaps a thin, whiplike branch, and the sight of the scars filled Erik with rage and made his vision cloud red. Whoever had dared to do such a thing to Winter would pay dearly for their crime. He spun her around.

"Who did this to you?" He was aware that he was nearly shouting and lowered the volume of his voice. "Who put those marks on your back?"

She frowned, clearly not comprehending the source of his anger. "Erik?" she said uncertainly. He stood up and turned away.

"Yes…I'm overreacting, aren't I…" He took a deep breath. "Come with me. That dress is useless; I'll have to go out and buy you a new one."

After dressing her in one of his shirts and a pair of his pants, he sent her back to bed and then sat in his study, glaring at the far wall. There was really nothing he could do about her scars, but that didn't change the fact that he wanted to find out who had done it and then… His hands clenched into fists and his breathing grew harsh and ragged. He didn't even notice that the piano was being played until a clear, uncertain voice rang out into the air, snapping him out of his dark thoughts.

"_**Child of the wilderness**_

_** Born into emptiness**_

_** Learn to be lonely**_

_** Learn to find your way in darkness**_

_** Who will be there for you?**_

_** Comfort and care for you?**_

_** Learn to be lonely**_

_** Learn to be your one companion...**_"

He was in the doorway to the Louis-Philippe room before he realized it, staring in disbelief at Winter. She was sitting at the piano, playing it with the skill of one who had practiced it for many years and singing in a clear voice that was somewhere between alto and soprano. He hardly dared to breathe for fear of startling her as she continued the song.

"_**Never dreamed out in the world**_

_** There are arms to hold you**_

_** You've always known**_

_** Your heart was on its own!**_"

Her voice took on a pained but defiant tone as she sang the next verse.

_** So laugh in your loneliness,**_

_** Child of the wilderness,**_

_** Learn to be lonely**_

_** Learn how to love life that is lived alone.**_

_**Learn to be lonely,**_

_**Life can be lived**_

_**Life can be loved**_

_**Alone.**_"

She stopped playing and, crawling off the stool, began to make for the door to her bedroom. Erik's voice stopped her.

"Winter."

She turned around and regarded him with solemn eyes. He pointed at the piano.

"Can you…play? Sing?"

She tilted her head to the side in a gesture which he had learned to recognize as meaning that she didn't understand. He selected the sheet music for the song he had been singing earlier and handed it to her.

"Can you sing that?" he asked, and turning to the piano, began to play the music. It was a moment before she joined in, but she did. Then he began to sing it with her, somewhere near the middle of the song. By the time they finished, he was practically glowing with elation. He turned to her excitedly.

"You can sing!" he exclaimed, stating the blatantly obvious. His excitement caught on, and Winter smiled.

"Erik," she said simply before yawning and walking off into her room.

* * *

**Masque:** HA! Proof that Erik's clothes ARE magic! 

**Erik:** (Stares in alarm)

**Masque:** I'm KIDDING…


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – The Speaking**

The next day, Erik got up early to go out shopping for a new dress for Winter. Getting dressed, he donned his mask and stepped out of his bedroom to find Winter standing in the doorway, waiting for him.

"Winter?" He crouched down so that he was at her height. "I'm going to leave for a little while to go into town and replace your dress. You have to stay here and take a nap, alright?"

She stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. With a quiet sigh, Erik took her by the hand and led her back into her bedroom. Then he departed, closing her bedroom door behind him.

It wasn't until he had emerged from the secret entrance/exit and stepped onto the streets of Paris that he realized that Winter had followed him. She bumped into his legs, and he jumped and spun around to see her standing behind him, staring innocently up at him. He sighed.

"Very well, I suppose you may accompany me. But remind me that I must either teach you to talk or begin locking you in your room whenever I go out."

And so they walked down the street: the extremely tall and thin man in the black cloak and mask, and the small, pale, petite young girl in a white poet's shirt tucked into pants that were too big for her. Erik caught her as she tripped over the pant cuffs.

"Here." Taking the pantlegs, he rolled them up to just above her ankles. They were supposed to be tight pants, but on her they were baggy. "Is that better?"

"Erik," she chirped happily, and taking that as a yes, Erik continued walking along down the street with Winter tagging along behind him.

They walked down the street a ways before he turned sharply into a dress shop – the same one, he realized with a pang of regret, in which he had bought Christine's clothes. He shoved such memories away into a dark corner of his mind and stepped up to the counter.

"Good day," he said with a bow. "I would like to purchase some clothing for this little girl here." He motioned to Winter, who stared up at the lady with her intense blue eyes. The lady came around the counter and smiled at Winter.

"Hello. What's your name?"

Winter just stared at her. Erik quickly intervened.

"She can't speak," he said shortly. "She was in an accident, and the trauma was too much for her, I'm afraid."

"Oh. I'm so sorry." The lady backed away hastily. "Um…if you'll come with me I'll show you some dresses."

Erik bought three dresses for Winter. He was paying the lady when a well-dressed gentleman and his daughter swept into the shop. The daughter looked excitedly around, then pointed and begged,

"Daddy, may I please have that one? Please Daddy? Please?"

The man chuckled. "Of course you can, dear, and any other dress your heart desires."

The girl squealed with delight and ran to explore the shop. Erik snorted with disgust. The girl was at least 14, and acting like a 6-year-old. Taking Winter's hand, he steered her out of the shop.

As they walked along, Winter kept glancing up at him. He didn't notice, being intent on getting back to the Opera House as soon as possible – he hated being out in public – but as they were approaching the secret entrance, she stopped. Feeling the tug on his hand, he also stopped and looked back at her.

"What's the matter?"

She tilted her head to one side, staring at him curiously, then she chirped in a perfect imitation of the voice of the girl at the store: "Daddy!"

He stared at her. "I…beg your pardon?"

"Daddy," she repeated, this time in her own voice. Then she pointed at him. "Daddy…Erik. Hello. What's your name?"

Erik realized with a start that she was repeating words she'd heard that day. Then he realized something even more shocking – she'd called him "Daddy".

"I…you…" He trailed off, still stunned. She giggled, and emitting a high-pitched "Daddy!" she grabbed his hand and ran through the secret entrance.

OoOoOoO

A week later, Winter was coming along quite well with her speaking lessons. Erik had discovered – to his surprise and delight – that not only did she have a fairly good singing voice, but she was also gifted with the ability to imitate sounds and voices. He encouraged the practice of this ability, while at the same time teaching her how to throw her voice, as she had expressed an interest in learning how to do so. They were in the middle of one such lesson when Erik heard the faint alarm that meant someone was crossing the lake.

Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have cared. Now his head snapped up and, getting to his feet, he crossed the room and opened the door.

"Erik?" Winter said from behind him. "What's the matter?"

"We have visitors," he announced quietly. "Go into your bedroom. I'll call you in a minute."

She nodded and disappeared into her room. Casually picking up the Punjab lasso from where it lay on top of the piano, Erik stepped out of the door and melted into the shadows to wait for the arrival of the person in the boat. When he saw who it was, he relaxed and reappeared with a suddenness that made the man in the boat jump.

"Hello, daroga."

The Persian spun around. "Erik! I thought you'd be dead by now!"

Erik inclined his head in a nod. "So did I, but my friend the rat-catcher brought me something that's kept me going this past week or so."

The daroga frowned. "Oddly enough, the rat-catcher is part of the reason I'm down here. I was going to come see how you were doing, and the rat-catcher stopped me in one of your secret passageways and asked me to 'see how the girl was doing'." His expression grew dark. "You haven't kidnapped another innocent young lady, have you, Erik?"

"If I had, there would really be nothing you could do about it," Erik said languidly. "As it so happens, I have kidnapped nobody. The only reason I am alive now is because the rat-catcher left the aforementioned girl in my care." Turning slightly, he raised his voice. "You can come out now, Winter."

She appeared so suddenly that the daroga started, and Erik was convinced that she had been spying, or at the very least eavesdropping. She came to his side and placed her intense, searching gaze on the daroga. Finally she spoke.

"Are you Erik's friend?"

Erik answered for him. "He is my friend, yes. He is the daroga, a former Persian chief-of-police."

"What's a Persian?"

"It's a person from a place called Persia. It's a country, like France. I'll show it to you on the map later."

She nodded and then, stepping forward, executed a deep and rather courtly curtsy – no doubt taught to her by Erik, the daroga thought. "It is a pleasure to meet you," she said cordially. "My name is Winter."

Out of habit, he bowed in response, then straightened and followed Erik into the house by the lake. The Phantom settled Winter down at the piano with a complicated piece to practice, and then he took the daroga into the kitchen. The two friends were silent for a time, listening to Winter play the piano, and then the Persian spoke.

"You really love her, don't you?"

"Yes," Erik said quietly. "Yes, I do."

"Does she have amnesia?"

Erik nodded an affirmative. "The rat-catcher found her in Box 5, bleeding and unconscious."

The daroga sank into a thoughtful silence. Then he suggested, "You could show her your face. If she can't remember anything…she wouldn't know the difference."

Erik's head snapped up, his eyes blazing yellow in the dim light of the kitchen. "No, I can't do that," he said vehemently. "It wouldn't be right, or fair. She has to make her own decision." He faltered. "Besides, I took her out in public with me…she knows what normal people are supposed to look like."

The daroga brushed this aside with a "pff" sound and a wave of his hand. "Really, Erik, the girl clearly loves and trusts you. If the feelings aren't mutual, how on earth can you ever live with her and have a clear conscience?"

Erik frowned behind his mask. "But…what if she hates me because of it?" He couldn't bear the thought of losing Winter. Not now.

The daroga stepped forward, clasped Erik's shoulders, and spoke in a firm voice while staring straight into the deep sockets of his eyes. "Erik, if she hates you merely because of the way you look, after everything you've done for her, then she's no decent human being. But there _is_ your past…" He trailed off meaningfully.

Erik regarded him in silence. Then he said, "Very well, then. I'll do it. But I'm not telling her about the rosy hours of Mazenderan, or anything else." He paused when the daroga shot him a dangerous look. "…Unless she asks. And even then, it's only a maybe."

* * *

**Masque:** There's the next chapter! Please review… (Puppy dog eyes) Please?? 

**Erik:** Don't do it. The last thing she needs is a bunch of people writing reviews to feed her ego.

**Masque:** THAT'S NOT TRUE! DON'T LISTEN TO HIM! Anyway, who's the authoress who's going to write more chapters, and who's the vaguely annoying, insane, masked muse who will forever and always have a bigger ego than me?

**Random Reader:** You know…she has a point.

**Erik:** I do NOT have a bigger ego than you.

**Masque:** Yes, you do. Want to know how I know? You're a MAN. That proves it.

**Erik:** It does not.

**Masque:** DOES TOO! Ahem. That's enough of that. Please review!!!


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – The Unmasking**

**A/N:**** Pardon me, but I just feel that I must apologize for my 2-week absence. I know that I'D be mad if I was reading a ****fanfiction**** and the author went away and didn't update for that long…****actually****, that happens a lot on this website. :) Such is the world of I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it goes a tad bit overboard in the emotional apartment…but that could just be me over-critiquing my work. Oh well.**

* * *

Erik watched Winter say her farewells to the daroga. An uncomfortable feeling had settled in his stomach, and it wouldn't go away. Unconsciously, a hand strayed to his mask. Realizing that it had done so, he jerked it away from his face and, turning around, strode into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Winter entered the kitchen behind him. "I like the daroga," she said. "He's nice. I'm glad he's your friend."

Erik did not respond, busy thinking about he and the daroga's conversation. Winter came into his view.

"Erik? What's the matter?" She placed her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands, staring at him. Finally, he looked up and met her gaze.

She was wearing a bright sun-yellow dress that enhanced the blue of her eyes, but which really didn't do anything for her pale skin. He regretted choosing it; pastels would suit her better. Her hair was loose and unstyled, hanging in a silver-white curtain on either side of her face, which had taken on a concerned expression.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You're not…" She searched for the right word. "You're not ill, are you?"

"Winter…" he began, then stopped, sighed. "Winter, do you wonder why I wear this mask?"

Her brow wrinkled in a frown. "Not really. Ought I to?"

He stood up. "Winter, I'm not…I'm not what you may think I am."

She watched him, uncomprehending, then her face lit up in seeming comprehension. "Oh, you must be talking about the people you killed."

Erik's mouth fell slightly open as he stared at her.

"The daroga told me all about it. I was a little scared at first, but then he told me that you didn't know any better at the time and you wouldn't do it again, so I wasn't scared anymore." She smiled, a bright, innocent smile. "Is that what you mean?"

Erik clenched his fists in an attempt to control the rage growing inside of him. The next time he saw the daroga, he would throttle him. "No…that's not what I mean," he said. "I mean…you know what the daroga looks like, and what you look like when you see yourself in a reflection in the lake."

She nodded, watching him attentively.

"And you saw all those people when we went out last week – you know what they looked like?"

She nodded again.

"Well…I don't look like them."

Her head tilted to the side. "Everybody looks different."

"Not like this." He was trembling now; taking her hand, he slowly placed it on his mask. "Take it off."

Her eyes grew wide. "But Erik, you always wear it. I don't want to take it off."

"I want you to." Silent tears ran down his face behind his mask. "Please…do it. For me."

He felt her fingers tighten on it, then she pulled it off. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see her reaction. Then he heard her say,

"Erik, why are you crying?"

"I didn't want you to see this," he whispered in a trembling voice. She regarded him curiously.

"Why not?"

"Because then…you might hate me."

When she spoke, true shock filled her voice. "Erik! I would never hate you! Never ever!" He opened his eyes as she jumped off her chair and came over to give him a hug. "You're the only thing I remember that's been there from the beginning. You take care of me, you taught me how to talk – I trust you," she said. "I love you. So – Erik! Erik, don't cry! Why are you crying? Erik?!"

He had sunk to the floor, silent sobs wracking his body. Unable to say anything but realizing that she was panicking, he reached up and caught her in a hug. When she hugged him back, he took a deep breath and whispered in her ear.

"I love you too."

* * *

**Masque:** Sorry for the shortness of the chapter. But another, longer one will follow this one! HURRAY! So if it's posted now, go read it and be happy. If not, you'll have to wait. But first…kindly leave a review? If not here, then after reading the next chapter, at least. Oh! And since I'm not sure whether my review replies are getting to the people I send them to, I'm going to start including them in the individual chapters. I'm done now. 


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – The Opera**

**A/N: Hello there! As promised, here are the review replies. I'm allowed to put review replies in my stories, right? I thought I read something about it not being allowed…let me know if that's true…anyway.**

**The Mad Maiden:** Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Heh, I know that song. Haven't listened to it in a while, though…

**TheAuthorC.:** Thanks! I'm enjoying writing it. I will try (not in this chapter, since it's already been written, but in the following ones) to add some more description. Probably not a whole lot, but I'll try. Thank you for the suggestion:)

* * *

It was a bright, sunny day, and Erik simply did not have the heart to keep Winter in the house beside the lake during such weather. And so it was that he packed a picnic lunch and took her up to the roof of the Opera House to enjoy the afternoon.

She was delighted when they arrived. Throwing off the black cloak he had made her wear for concealment while they made their way to the roof, she ran to the edge of the roof and looked over.

"Erik, come look!" she cried. "Look how high up we are!"

He smiled at her excitement as he walked across the roof towards her. "Yes, we are very high up. You're not afraid?"

"No." She turned and smiled at him. "I like heights. I always have."

Erik stopped dead in his tracks. "You remember?"

She shrugged and, turning away, leaned over the edge of the roof to look down at the traffic below. "Some things. I get flashes of memories – nothing about my actual life, but things like remembering that I enjoy heights." She frowned. "And I remember that I hate the color red."

"Do you remember why?"

She shook her head. "No. I wish I could, though." She looked over at a far corner of the roof. "Who's that a statue of?"

Erik followed the direction of her gaze. "Oh! That's Apollo, a pagan god worshiped by some people called the Greeks. Would you like me to tell you about him?"

She nodded. "Tell me about the Greeks, too," she pleaded, so with a smile he sat down on a stone bench, placed on the roof for the benefit of resting opera singers or perhaps secret lovers. She joined him, snuggling up against him with her head resting on his shoulder as she listened to him animatedly tell stories about Apollo and the Greeks, only interrupting occasionally to ask a question or two.

They stayed like that for an time, until Erik noticed that somewhere in the middle of one of his stories, Winter had fallen asleep. He stopped talking, and looking down at her, he smiled gently. She had managed to wind one of her arms around his in such a way that he couldn't move without waking her up. Quietly and without disturbing her, he reached out his unrestrained arm and tucked a stray strand of mercury-colored hair behind her ear. She moved in her sleep and tightened her grip on his arm.

Erik closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath of air. Never had he felt so loved before in his life – not even when Christine had still trusted him. He realized, not for the first time, that he loved Winter – he adored her. Never before had he felt so attached to someone. If Winter were taken away from him, he felt that his heart would break.

He fell asleep with his head resting on top of hers, a slight smile curving up the corners of his mouth and a protective arm around the girl.

OoOoOoO

He woke up knowing that he wasn't alone. Opening his eyes, he sat up straight and looked around. Nothing. And then he heard the voices.

"…Philippe, really I couldn't."

The voice of a well-bred French gentleman was what next reached his ears.

"Of course you can. Carlotta, I've been admiring you for the past three weeks. Every time you passed me in the hall without speaking to me was agony. Please, do me this simple favor."

"But…meet you after the opera?" Carlotta simpered. Erik knew she was playing the boy like a fish on a line. "I don't know if I can manage it."

"Please, I beg of you. I may be dead of a broken heart tomorrow if you do not permit me to tell you how I truly feel tonight…"

Their voices trailed off, and Erik realized that they were leaving the roof. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. How any man could _admire_ Carlotta was beyond him.

"Erik, what's an opera?"

He started, not having realized that Winter was awake. Then he stared down at her in disbelief and no little shock.

"An opera – is - " He faltered. She had been living in the Paris Opera House with him for approximately three weeks, and yet she did not know what an opera was. Clearly, he had failed as any sort of tutor.

"It's like a play, only bigger, and a lot more complex, with lots of music and singing and dancing."

She nodded and bit her lip thoughtfully. "It sounds pretty," she said after a moment.

An idea struck Erik all of a sudden, and before he could stop himself, he asked, "Would you like to go see one? An opera?"

She twisted in his arms and looked up at him, her blue eyes dancing with excitement. "Oh, _can_ we?"

Erik thought for a moment. If anyone had taken Box 5, some artful ventriloquism could get them out again, and he had been missing his job as universal theater critic, anyway. "Of course we can."

"Hurray!"

OoOoOoO

Standing in his bedroom, Erik slipped on his black leather gloves and was pleased to see that they had regained their snug fit. After Christine had left, he had lost a considerable amount of weight, which was not a good thing since he had been rather skinny to begin with. Ever since Winter's arrival, though, he had gained at least some of it back – enough, anyway, so that he no longer looked like an emaciated skeleton.

Turning around, he smiled at the sight of Winter sitting on the edge of his coffin, swinging her legs back and forth and watching him intently.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked. She nodded, her face lighting up with excitement as she jumped off the coffin and ran over to him.

As he helped her into the boat, he noticed with pleasure and perhaps a little bit of pride that she was very pretty. The pride bit was due to the fact that he had picked out both the dress she was wearing and her hairstyle. Her dress was a fairly simple but beautiful affair, with bell sleeves and a skirt dyed with varying shades of blue. As for her hair, it was done up in a simple braid that somehow managed to flatter her exotic features.

When they arrived at the opposite shore, he led her along a shortcut to Box 5, which by extreme luck **(A/N: -Cough-****Semiomnipotentinterference****-cough-)** was not occupied. It wasn't even lit, which was convenient for Erik. It meant that he could sit in the back, in the shadows, unnoticed. After finding out where he was going to sit, Winter joined him, resting her head on his arm while she watched the opera.

By the time the first act was over, Erik was quietly seething inside. How could he have let things get so bad?! He had an entire list of faults running through his mind, only one of which was the fact that they had given Carlotta the leading role – again. He would have to rectify that as soon as possible.

During the interlude between acts, people were getting up and visiting other boxes, sending members of the opposite sex coy looks across the theater, and waving to people they knew. Winter moved forward in the box to get a better look at all of the activity, and Erik watched her with interest.

Suddenly, she emitted a short scream and threw herself back into the shadows of Box 5, running to Erik and practically leaping into his arms. Startled, he caught her and held her close, alarmed to discover that she was shaking violently.

"Winter, what's the matter? What is it?"

"Th-th-the man," she stammered. "In the b-b-box across f-from ours."

Erik looked across the theatre. Sure enough, in the box directly across from Box 5 was a tall, handsome man, with dark hair and a rough, angry air about his person. His face was twisted in an unattractive expression of bewilderment as he peered at their box. Apparently he dismissed whatever he had seen as nothing, because he shrugged and returned to flirting with the woman sitting next to him.

"Who is he? Do you know him?"

She shook her head frantically. "N-no, I don't remember who he is, bu-but I don't want to stay here. I want to go home. Erik, I want to go home!" she sobbed. Erik stared down at her, torn between prodding her to search what little memory she had and taking her back to the house by the lake. She pulled away and looked up at him, and one glance at her pleading tear-filled eyes decided him. Picking her up, he slipped soundlessly through the entrance to Box 5 and became a shadow among shadows as he made his way back to the boat.

Later that night, he was working on a composition when he heard quiet footsteps on the floor behind him. Turning around, he saw Winter standing in the doorway, wearing the nightgown he had bought her and looking at him nervously.

"What is it?" he asked gently. She glanced at the floor, bit her lip, and then finally said something in such a quiet voice that he didn't hear what she had said.

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice little more than a whisper. He stared at her.

"Whatever for, _mon__ cher_?"

"I made you miss the rest…of the opera…you didn't have to take me home." He could see that she was keeping her eyes tightly closed. "I don't…even know…who that man is. He didn't see me…I was acting stupid…"

Black cloak swirling about him, Erik sprang up and strode over to Winter. Kneeling by her side, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. Her eyes opened, and unshed tears slid down her cheeks and onto his bare fingers.

"You weren't acting stupid," he said, his voice deadly serious. "That man is someone from your past, someone you were afraid of. You still fear him, because somewhere, deep in your subconscious, you remember what he did to you. You remember everything, Winter; it's just locked away somewhere deep inside of your mind. But you can get it back. You will get it back. You'll remember everything."

Winter looked at him for a long moment, and he looked back. Then she launched herself into his arms without warning, slamming into him and knocking him to the floor, making him emit an "oomph" sound as the air rushed out of his lungs.

"I love you soooo much!" she squealed, and hugged him hard.

"I love you too," Erik gasped, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. Upon hearing the somewhat stressed quality of his voice, she jerked back and regarded him with a concerned expression.

"Are you alright?"

He chuckled. "I'm fine, _le petit_. But I think, if that's quite all, it's somewhat past your bedtime." He paused, then added, "And I'm actually quite grateful to you for giving me an excuse to get away from that opera. I'm fairly certain that my ears were about to start bleeding from that soprano's voice alone."

Winter giggled and hugged him again. "Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Winter."

* * *

**A/N:** Who was that strange man Winter feared so much? Will they ever find out? What will happen in the next chapter? Questions, questions:)

Hello there! It's me, with a note for you people who don't speak French. Neither do I, actually. Aren't Internet translators wonderful? Ahem. But I digress.

_Mon cher_ - My dear

_Le petit _- Little one

And there you go. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 – The Maze**

**A/N:** **Argh****, can you believe it? I FORGOT TO PUT A DISCLAIMER. ****Shame on me.**** So…I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. I don't own anything in this story except ****Winter**** and any other original characters I might have chosen or choose to put in. ****So.**** Moving on.**

* * *

Winter sat at the piano, practicing a complicated piece that Erik had written for her to play. He had left early that morning, leaving a note that said he had "gone out". He had been gone all day, and now it was late in the afternoon. She had managed to occupy herself for most of that time, but now she was beginning to grow bored. She wanted Erik to come back. She wondered where he had "gone out" to. 

She practiced the piece one more time before getting up from the piano, going into her bedroom and getting the black cloak that Erik had gotten for her. It was light but warm, and it made her practically invisible when she was standing in the shadows. She knew, because she had seen Erik doing it before and tried it herself, hiding in his room and watching him play his violin. She didn't think he would like it if he found out that she watched him; whenever he played the violin, he cried, and she knew he didn't want her to see him cry. She cried, too, when she went back to her room. They were always very sad songs – beautiful, but sad.

Now she went into his room and over to the far corner. He had taken the boat, but he had also showed her about five other ways to get into and out of the house by the lake. Pulling back one of the black draperies on the wall, she revealed a hidden door, which she now opened and walked through.

She found herself in a cold, damp, dimly lit corridor, filled with the distant squeaking of rats and the rather unpleasant scent of mildew. Curiously, she began walking forward.

That corridor went on for a while, until suddenly it stopped, branching out into two different paths: one going right, the other going left. She thought for a moment before taking the one that went left.

From then on, the way was completely labyrinthine, with twists and turns and other corridors branching out from whichever one she happened to be following. Some she took, some she ignored, some were dead ends and she had to turn around. After a while, she began to grow anxious. Erik hadn't exactly shown her this exit; she had seen him use it once, when she had been hiding in his room watching him. She had assumed it was just like all the others – a straightforward but secret passageway – but it wasn't. It was far more confusing.

Finally and at long last, she came across a door. Emitting a cry of delight, she opened it and ran through – into pitch blackness. Standing up (she had tripped when she'd entered), she turned back to the door, which had closed behind her, and tried to open it, only to discover something that filled her with horror.

There wasn't a handle on that side.

Trying to calm herself down, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. When they had, she looked hard at the door, running her fingers up and down the sides, searching for cracks she could use to pull it open. There were none. She turned and looked at the walls. A little above her, there was an unused torch in a holder. She reached up, standing on her toes, and pulled it out. As she brought it close to her face, some sort of reaction to her breath caused it to ignite, making her jerk it away from herself. Raising it high, she peered into the dark corridor beyond. She didn't see anything, so she took a cautious step forward.

She heard it before she saw it: a keening, high-pitched whine. She dropped flat to the floor, and seconds later, the object struck the stone wall behind her and bounced off. Getting cautiously to her feet, she went over to where it lay on the floor and examined it, recognizing the sharp feathered object with a gasp. Erik had shown her a picture of one of them in one of his books. It was a poisoned dart, she remembered.

Turning around, she peered hard into the darkness, trying to see what had triggered the dart's release. A moment later, she saw them – hundreds of fine threads, strung out all over the corridor ahead. They were just barely wide enough apart that she could slip over, in between, and under them, but it would be tricky, especially since she needed to keep hold of the torch.

Taking a deep breath, she placed the torch on the other side of the first string, then slipped carefully under the string to join it. One down, several hundred more to go.

OoOoOoO

Erik poled across the lake, thinking back on that day's work. A few well-placed notes, a brief conversation with Madame Giry, and one or two pranks had all served their purpose. The Opera Ghost was back, and everybody knew it.

Stepping out onto the shore, he swept off his cloak and draped it over his arm. Entering the house, he called out,

"Winter, I'm home!"

No response. Frowning, he hung up his cloak and walked over to the piano. The sheet music for the piece he had written for her was laid out on the music stand. Thinking that she might have decided to take a nap, he went into her bedroom. She wasn't there; the bed was neatly made and the room was spotless.

Fighting down the rising feeling of panic that was welling up within him, he went out into the Louis-Philippe room, calling her name again. Suddenly, he thought that she might have gone out into one of the secret passageways to look for him. In that case, she ought to be back shortly. With that thought in mind, he went into his bedroom.

He frowned, finding it a bit drafty. Crossing the room, he cast a careless glance in the direction of the secret doorway – and stopped in his tracks, his heart beginning to pound in his chest as he saw that it was open.

Even as he told himself that he had left it open, that it was only mere negligence on his part, he was building a worst-case scenario in his mind. In the next second, he was running down the corridor, his footsteps echoing dimly off the stone walls as he raced towards his destination. Reaching the end of the main corridor, he turned left without hesitation and went on through the labyrinthine web of passageways, occasionally turning left or right, until he reached the wooden door. Snatching a torch out of its holder on the wall, he opened the door and used his foot to keep it that way as he swept a searching gaze over the series of near-invisible threads. As far as he could tell, none of them had been disturbed. Immense relief swept through his system, but then, as he turned away, he saw something on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, and a sickening feeling of horror coursed through his system as he recognized it: it was one of the poison darts that each one of the threads was linked to.

Slowly, Erik lifted his head and stared off into the darkness of the corridor. The torch had fallen from his hand and was lying on the stone floor, flickering wildly and throwing eerie shadows on the walls. He had not heard the alarms all day, so there could only be one possible explanation. Winter had found her way into the deadliest part of his labyrinth – the intricately planned maze of traps that spelled the end of anyone who entered. Even their creator could not get through unscathed, which was why there was a separate corridor that ran above the maze which allowed him to watch his victims' untimely demise.

But now, that corridor was going to be put to a different use. Snatching up the torch, Erik whirled and tore off at the top of his speed, the door closing behind him with an ominous thud.

OoOoOoOoO

Winter stood absolutely still, not daring to move as she surveyed the room before her. She had lost her torch some time ago, but her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and now she could see where she was going, if only dimly.

The room looked empty, but she had learned that nothing in the maze was what it appeared to be. The one thing that would keep her alive – that had been keeping her alive – was her natural tendency to stop, look, and listen. It was essential to do these things in the maze. If you _heard_ the hidden blades moving in the wall _before_ they whipped out and cut your feet off at the ankles, then you had a better chance of jumping back and avoiding them. An apparently innocent curtain across a doorway could release a flood of poisonous snakes if swept back. A seemingly sturdy part of the floor could be a hidden trapdoor that opened into a pit of scorpions. Winter had discovered all of this and more on her terror-riddled journey through the maze of traps, and now she just wanted it to end.

"I want…Erik," she managed in a trembling voice. It made her feel better to say his name. "Erik would know what to do."

She didn't want to go into the large, empty room before her. She didn't want to deal with another trap, to dodge death yet another time. She wanted to be back in the house by the lake, where it was safe and where she should be, practicing her music. Maybe Erik was back now, waiting for her to come home. He probably thought she had gone to look for him.

But then again, maybe he was looking for her right now. The thought gave her courage, and she scanned the room before her, searching for something that might reveal the presence of an imminent danger. As she looked, she was struck by the thought that Erik couldn't find her if he didn't know where she was. She had to tell him, give him some way to locate her. Desperately hoping that he _was_ searching for her, she took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and began to sing.

As she did so, she saw something moving near the back of the room. Her voice trembled, but as it did so, the movement stopped. She forced her voice to remain steady, and it started moving again.

She had never seen a snake of that size before in her life. It was huge, much bigger than her at any rate, and it seemed to be responding to the sound of her voice. She stopped singing, and it stopped moving. She frowned, trying to think of what to do. It didn't seem to notice her when she wasn't singing, so…she took a step forward.

Its head darted in her direction, black eyes seeking her out. She had frozen in place once again, and although it was staring right at her, it didn't seem to actually _see_ her. They stayed like that for a while, until suddenly, tongue flickering in and out of its mouth, it moved towards her.

She didn't waste time. She took off across the room, running for the door on the opposite side. Even so, as fast as she was, the snake was faster. She came to a sudden halt as it slithered in front of her and hissed at her. She turned to flee, only to find that she had somehow been driven into a corner. As the snake reared up in preparation for the strike, her composure broke. She had been being very brave up to this point, but now her energy was spent and she didn't want to deal with the fear anymore – the fear of what would come next. The fear of what would follow the snake. She had entered this maze with one thing in mind, and now the name of that thing came out in one terrified scream as the snake lashed out at her.

"ERIK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

OoOoOoOoO

Erik heard the scream, and was surprised to hear it come from directly underneath him. Then the surprise turned to horror and cold fear, and he dropped to his hands and knees, searching for the trapdoor that would allow him to enter the chamber below. He found it and wrenched it open with a force that nearly tore it off of its hinges. Jumping down into the room below, he was just in time to see the huge snake strike at Winter.

He didn't waste a moment. The Punjab lasso left his pocket, flew through the air, and settled around the snake's throat in one fluid movement, which ended in a vicious yank that prevented the snake from reaching the girl. Angry at being deprived of its meal, the snake turned on Erik. Furious black eyes met cool gold ones, and then the former became completely deprived on any emotion whatever as Erik shot the snake at point-blank range.

The snake hadn't hit the ground before Erik was in front of Winter, running a concerned gaze over her in search of injuries. She had been cringing in the corner, her hands over her head and eyes tightly closed, but now she cautiously opened them.

"ERIK!" she cried, and flung herself into his arms. "Erik, I'm so glad you're here!"

"I know," he said, holding her close. "I know. I'm glad I'm here too."

They remained like that for a time, then Erik stood up and pulled Winter to her feet. Placing a hand underneath her chin, he tilted her head up and asked her quietly,

"Winter, how did you find that doorway into the labyrinth? I never showed it to you."

She glanced at the floor, then back up at him. "Well, I've seen you use it before, when you didn't think I was watching. And you were gone for so long…that was just the first door I picked." She bit her lip. "Are you going to punish me?"

Erik started. "What? No! Why would I punish you? To be sure, you shouldn't have been spying on me, but I'm not going to punish you for that." He had spied on plenty of people himself – and still did. "As long as you promise never to come in here again -"

He broke off as Winter hugged him fiercely. "I'll never go in the maze again! EVER!" she exclaimed, and he chuckled at her vehemence.

"Well, that's alright then. Come along now, we're going home."

After getting up into the corridor above the maze, they returned to the house by the lake. There, Winter got bathed, had dinner, and then listened to Erik tell the story of Theseus and the Minotaur – a fitting tale, he thought, for the day's events. By the time he was done, Winter was fast asleep. Smiling, he picked her up and carried her to bed.

As he tucked her in, a thought hit him: when she was in trouble, Winter had called for him. That touched him deeply, in an offhand sort of way (since he was the only person she really _knew_). He sighed and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face.

"Goodnight, Winter."

* * *

**A/N:** Yay, another character development-type chapter! But I'm thinking: you guys know they're close. I know they're close. _They_ know they're close. So let's not allow the next chapter to revolve around them entirely, shall we? 

**Erik:** What? What are you going to do to them?! Never mind, I don't want to know.

**A/N:** Well, since you _asked_…(Pulls out a blue-and-green paisley notebook and flips through) Why don't we bring an outside character into it? Meg Giry, Madame Giry, I don't know, something of the sort? I'm sure people are waiting on the edges of their seats for Winter to have another encounter with her father…AHA!

**Erik:** What is it?

**A/N:** (Snaps notebook shut) I can't tell you. I wouldn't want to spoil it for the readers.

**Erik:** Tell…me…(Eye twitch)

**A/N:** Nope, not happening. You'll have to wait for the chapter update like everyone else does. (Thumbs-up to reviewers) Thank you for your support so far! I'm enjoying myself!! Hope you are too!

* * *

**A/N: **Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Apparently, putting review replies in chapters IS forbidden, so it's back to the review reply function for me. (Sigh) Oh well. Anyway—that's just so you know, okay? Bye-bye now. 


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 – The Man**

**A/N: I don't own **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. Pity me.  
**

* * *

He walked quickly through the theater, his footsteps echoing ever-so-faintly across the giant auditorium as he made his way towards his destination. He had to prove to himself that it had been a mistake, a trick of the light, or perhaps a hallucination – but that last one was stretching it a bit. All he needed to do was go into Box 5 and prove to himself that the girl he had seen in there the other night had not been his daughter.

He opened the door of the box and peered inside. It was dark, and had a certain air of gloom about it. Undaunted, he entered and began a systematic search for…anything.

He found nothing. Straightening up, he turned sharply towards the door of the box with an angry but unspoken snarl twisting his mouth out of shape. Then, just before he reached the door, he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

Curious, he turned and approached it, leaning down and picking it up when he got close enough. It was a small white brocade glove – a glove which could have belonged to anyone who had sat in the box recently. The difference was that he recognized the glove. He should – he had bought it himself. And he always remembered something that he bought.

His fist closed around the glove as he stared off into the shadows. "So," he said in an eerily silent voice. "You _are_ alive, after all. Such a pity. Now I'll have to bother with finding you, I suppose. I can't have you…_talking_ to people. That simply won't do."

Suddenly, he threw the glove down and ground it beneath his heel. This time, the snarl came out, vicious and feral, ringing out across the theater as he left Box 5 and slammed the door behind him.

OoOoOoOoO

He walked swiftly down the street, staring at the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets. The people he passed gave him a wide berth, like he was emanating some sort of dark energy. At any rate, his features were twisted in a frightening expression of rage, and his eyes were blazing fire, so it was small wonder that he attracted little company.

_The girl.__The girl.__ She's alive. I should have checked and made sure…Blast! She must still be in the Opera House. Anyhow, that's the logical place to start looking. She couldn't join the chorus. __Too quiet for that. __Maybe…the ballerinas?__ Ah, no. She's too clumsy. But still, it's best to be sure. I've learned that lesson, haven't I?  
_

"Audric! Audric, is that you?"

He stopped and looked up as the familiar voice called his name. A very beautiful woman, with long, wavy dark brown hair, green eyes, and rosy skin was crossing the street towards him. She was wearing a dark green dress that complimented her eyes and showed an outrageous amount of cleavage, as well as an expensive but somewhat gaudy diamond necklace that glinted and sparkled in the sun.

"Audric," she repeated as she came up to him. "Is something the matter? You look so thoughtful – it's not like you."

"Mademoiselle Moreaux," he said, taking her proffered hand and bowing over it. "I assure you that all dark thoughts have been chased from my mind by your timely arrival."

She blushed. "Oh, Audric, you flattering fool. How many times have I told you to call me Henrietta?"

"Many and more than I can count, I'm sure," he said suavely. "Did you want me for something?"

"Well, er, ah, not -"

He held a finger to his own lips to still her protest. "Please…I am, as you know, always at your disposal."

She blushed again. "Well, actually, I was coming to issue an invitation to you in person. I'm holding a ball, the day after tomorrow, and I was hoping…that you'd attend…?" Her voice trailed off hopefully. He regarded her in silence for a moment; then his lips curved upwards in a smile.

"I would be honored. At what time?"

"Oh, um, six thirty."

"I will be there." He bowed. "Now, will you walk with me…Henrietta?"

She blushed a third time. "Oh! Of course." Placing her hand delicately on his arm, she kept pace with him as he resumed walking, smiling on the outside but privately raging on the inside.

_This puts a damper on my plans! A huge damper! Why did she feel it necessary to have a ball now? Ah, well, I can't disappoint her. Our relationship is young, yet. I must humor the woman._ He scowled. _But I'll get you, you little brat. You can't hide forever…I'LL FIND YOU!!_

OoOoOoOoO

Erik lounged in the sitting-room, idly flipping through some old novel and occasionally pausing to glance over at Winter. She was seated at the long, low coffee table, which was covered in newspaper, and practicing painting. She had seen Erik doing it the other day, and had wanted to try it for herself, so he had set her up with some equipment and allowed her to have at it. He wondered what she was painting, but pulled his mind away from that subject and returned to his novel, only to once again look in her direction a few minutes later.

Finally, she stood up, picked the painting up, blew on it in an attempt to dry it, and then carried it over to Erik. He put his book down and sat up straight.

"What have you got there, _mon __cher_?"

"A painting," she said, and Erik hid a grin.

"Well, yes, obviously. What is it a painting of?" he asked, taking the painting from her and turning it towards himself. Winter stared at him for a moment, then her face went totally blank and she replied in a faint voice,

"I…don't know."

Erik's own face was registering shock and horror behind his mask. Her painting was very good – excellent, even – but it was a picture of a bare back, covered with scars, some old, some new and still dripping with blood. As he stared at it, he thought of her scars.

"Winter? Is this a picture of you?"

"I don't know," she repeated, her voice high and distressed. "Erik, I don't know what it is!!"

Seeing that she was on the verge of hysteria, he laid the painting down and beckoned her over to him. Picking her up, he sat her on his lap and whispered in her ear.

"I know a secret."

"A secret?" she asked, her face brightening some. This was a game they had started playing at bedtime, and she loved it.

"A secret," he confirmed. "Do _you_ know a secret?"

"A secret?"

"A secret."

"_I_ know a secret," she chirped. "It's our secret."

"And our secret…"

"Is…"

"That I love you!!" they finished together, and Erik reached out and tickled her. She squirmed on his lap, laughing delightedly as his own deep laughter mingled with her own.

Then, suddenly, the door to the sitting-room swung open, revealing a young woman of considerable beauty with long, curly blond hair. She stared at the two laughing people in the chair: tall, thin man with dark hair and a black mask, along with a small, pale girl with long mercury-colored hair and vivid blue eyes. After a moment of stunned silence, she spoke, her voice little more than a whisper.

"…Erik?"

Erik left off tickling Winter long enough to glance up. Then he froze, staring at the woman, his eyes filled with disbelief and his mouth silently forming her name, but no sound coming out. She took a step forward.

"Erik, I thought…I thought you'd be dead by now." Her gaze darted from his masked face to that of Winter, who was staring up at Erik with a concerned expression on her face.

"Erik?" she asked. "What's the matter?"

Erik barely heard her, his eyes and mind entirely fixated upon the woman before him. Seeing that she wasn't getting any response from him, the woman turned to Winter.

"Hello, little girl," she said kindly. "What's your name?"

"Winter," Winter said uncertainly. "Who are you?"

"Christine." It was not the woman who spoke; it was Erik. He repeated her name, as though it was foreign to him. "Christine…"

"I am the Viscomtess Christine de Chagny now, Erik," she said gently. "Please address me by my proper title."

Even as Erik felt something burning within him at her patronizing manner, he felt a tug on his shirt. Looking down, he saw Winter looking up at him.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice unintentionally hard and icy. The girl was undeterred.

"Erik, what's a viscomtess?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then burst out laughing. The girl smiled, glad to have snapped him out of his stunned reverie. Christine stood where she was, staring at them as Erik got ahold of himself and explained to Winter,

"A viscomtess is the wife of a viscomte, _mon__ cher_. And a viscomte," he continued, "is a member of the British peerage. I have a book on that somewhere in my library, and I'll show it to you later."

"Oh. Alright!" she chirped, and wrapping her arms around his neck, she glanced at Christine. "So, is she like royalty?"

This time, it was Christine that answered. "Not really, darling. In fact, we're a long way from it." She beckoned with her hand. "Come here."

Erik felt Winter's grip tighten around his neck, and whispered in her ear, "It's alright. Go ahead."

Reassured, the girl slipped off his lap and approached Christine. The blond woman smiled kindly at her.

"So, Winter. How long have you known Erik?" she asked. Winter thought for a moment.

"As long as I can remember," she said brightly. "He taught me everything I know! Except how to play the piano. Oh, and change my voice."

Christine frowned. "Change your voice?"

Winter nodded. "Yes, like this," she said in a perfect imitation of Christine's voice. The woman stared at her.

"Oh," she said faintly. "I see. So…you're Erik's daughter?"

Winter opened her mouth to answer, but she was cut off by a quiet response from Erik.

"A friend brought her to me several weeks ago," he said. His head was in his hands, and his voice was slightly muffled. "Her head was wounded and bleeding. She has amnesia." He looked up, and Christine took a step backwards at the expression in his eyes. They were full of the memories of days past, and the thoughts of things that could never come to be. "She is…the only thing that has kept me alive."

"Does she know about your fa -" Christine clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry…"

She felt a tug on her dress and looked down.

"What's wrong with his face?" Winter asked. "Isn't it perfectly normal?"

Christine knelt down and pulled the girl close. "Not exactly," she said in a very low voice, but Erik still heard her. "Why do you think he wears a mask?"

Winter tilted her head to one side and thought. "Because he likes it?"

Christine opened her mouth, but Winter wasn't done. "Why do you wear jewelry? And why does everybody have to wear gloves all the time, when they're outside? Because they like to! You see, it all makes sense." She smiled up at Christine, then turned to Erik, who was staring at her with something indescribable in his eyes. "Erik, I'm hungry. Let's go make lunch!"

Erik stood up, walked over to Winter, and then, without warning, swooped down and, picking her up, placed her on his shoulders – a bit of a complicated maneuver, seeing as she was wearing a dress, but not entirely impossible.

"Yes," he said decisively, "let's. Won't you join us, Viscomtess?" he asked, not bothering to disguise the sarcasm in his voice as he walked past her out the door, Winter giggling the entire time.

OoOoOoOoO

Lunch was a pleasant affair for Erik and Winter – not so much for Christine. She sat in her chair, pushing her food around on her plate with her fork and trying not to think about the last time she had eaten at that same table. Finally, Winter noticed that she had barely touched her food.

"Why aren't you eating?"

Christine gasped and looked down. Winter had popped up near her elbow, and now the girl pointed at the viscomtess's bowl of soup.

"You should eat. Erik cooked that, you know. It's good!" she added. When Christine made no move towards it, Winter climbed up onto the chair beside her and picked up the spoon. Making sure none of the soup dripped onto the table, she moved the spoon towards Christine's mouth.

"Open up!" she chirped. On the other side of the table, Erik leaned back in his chair, watching the proceedings with great interest. Christine regarded the spoon with suspicion, then opened her mouth to protest. Before she could, Winter placed the spoon in her mouth.

Unable to do anything about it, Christine closed her mouth around the spoon and swallowed the soup. Winter watched her, bright-eyed with excitement.

"It's good," she admitted finally. "Very good. What's in it?"

"Oh, this and that," Erik said vaguely. "Mostly vegetables and some spices. Pardon me." Scooting back his chair, he stood and went into the kitchen to get something.

He was re-entering the dining room when he heard Winter ask, "Christine, how did you get to know Erik?"

He stopped, frozen in place, half-afraid of what she might say.

"Well," Christine said, "he was my Angel of Music."

"What's that?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, just a tale my father used to tell me. He made up lots of stories to tell me and my friend, Raoul. But Erik – he pretended to be my Angel, and he taught me how to sing. We were close for a while, and then…well, I met Raoul again, and Erik was jealous, and became too possessive of me for my tastes. Besides that, I was falling in love with Raoul. So...I made plans with Raoul to run away from the Opera House. But Erik found out about it, and kidnapped me and brought me down here." Her voice grew harsh, bitter. "Then he tried to kill Raoul and the daroga -"

"Erik wouldn't kill the daroga!" Winter interrupted. "The daroga is Erik's friend!"

"Erik has no friends," Christine said darkly. "He is a murdering monster, fit only for the darkness of this hole in the ground. You have not yet seen his dark side. This man you think you love is a cruel, heartless fiend. Come with me," she said, her voice growing soft once again. "I will introduce you to Raoul. He is kind, and he likes children. Wouldn't you like to live with us?"

Erik heard a chair scooting back, and the next thing he knew Winter was flinging herself into his arms.

"Erik! Erik! Christine is telling horrid tales about you!" the girl cried, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Make her stop! I don't want to live with her!!"

Placing Winter on the floor, Erik stepped forward and fixed his most terrifying glare on Christine. "Viscomtess de Chagny," he addressed her in a dangerously quiet voice. "Now that you have thoroughly upset Winter, I must ask you to leave. Immediately."

Even though she was clearly terrified, Christine held her ground. "Are you not going to tell her the truth, then?" she said in a trembling voice. "About what happened? About what you did to -"

"GO!" Erik shouted, and Christine turned and fled. There was silence for a long time after her departure. Then, behind him:

"Even if it's true, I still love you." Winter tried to take his hand, but he drew away from her and walked over to the door.

"It's true." He did not look at her as he continued. "She's right, you know. You don't know me. I have another side, a 'dark' side. I have not allowed you to see that side…except possibly for a few minutes ago. I never want you to see it again." He paused. "Perhaps it _would_ be better if you went and lived with her and the viscomte."

"But Erik!" Winter blurted, her voice edged with hysteria. "Erik, your other side doesn't matter! What matters is that you love me! You'd never do anything to hurt me, dark side or no! _I don't want to leave you!!!_"

When Erik made no response, merely standing with his back to her and one hand on the door, Winter frantically searched for something else to say. She came up with only one thing.

"I know a secret," she said hopefully. There was silence for a moment. Then:

"A secret?" Erik repeated, his voice quiet and barely audible.

"A secret," Winter said again, taking a cautious step towards him. "Do _you_ know a secret?"

"A secret?"

"A secret."

"_I_ know a secret." His voice was stronger, but he said nothing else. So Winter filled in for him:

"It's _our_ secret." Silence. "And our secret…"

"Is…"

"That I LOVE YOU!" she cried, and hugged him from behind. He twisted in her embrace and, picking her up, carried her over to the table and sat her down on top of it.

"I love you too," he said, and sweeping the dishes to one side, he promptly thereafter proceeded to tickle her without mercy.

When he finally left off and her screams of laughter had died down, he swirled his cloak about himself and announced, "Let's bake a cake!"

"Yay!" Winter cried, and jumped off the table. As they entered the kitchen, she exclaimed, "I know! After we make the cake -"

"And eat it," Erik reminded her.

"- and eat it, let's write a _song_ about cake!"

"You couldn't find a better way to make my day. Get the eggs out of the pantry, will you please?"

* * *

**Masque:** EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! It's so KA-YUUUUTE!!!!!! I LOVE IT!!!!!

**Erik:** Please get off your sugar-high and make sense.

**Masque:** But I'm not sugar-high! Writing that chapter just made me so HYPER! AIIEEEE! I ADORE THOSE TWO!!!

**Erik:** You're getting emotional…stop it. Just _quit_.

**Masque:** But…(sniff) Wahhhh! They're making CAKE! And writing a SONG about it! Though, actually, the song was a byproduct of me writing that chapter and thinking about the theme song for the anime _Azumanga __Daioh_ at the same time…oh well. Addressing the readers: There you have it. TWO characters that were NOT Erik or Winter. However, the other characters were connected to both of them. Three guesses as to who Audric is. Grr. I hate him already. Anyone else? If so, please feel free to tell me in a review. WARNING: Flames will be used to burn marshmallows.

**Erik:** (Sigh) I think you mean _roast_.

**Masque:** No, BURN. The marshmallows must IGNITE and BURN and DISSOLVE INTO CHARCOAL-Y DUST!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!

**Erik:** Enough!!!

**Masque:** Ahem. (Cough) You're absolutely right. I'm done now…please review. No, really. Getting only TWO reviews per chapter makes me…unhappy.

**Erik:** Considering the fact that you haven't been REPLYING to reviews…

**Masque:** I'm SORRY! I'm just…not accustomed to the whole review-reply thing yet. But I'll reply to reviews for this chapter! So please, REVIEW!

**Erik:** Yes, do. It is imperative that she be kept busy replying to reviews and therefore AWAY FROM SUGAR. So – quick, phans, if you love me! Review!

**Masque:** (Pokes him) Quit paraphrasing Sherlock Holmes! Anyway, I think you readers have all got the message, so we'll be going now. (Grabs Erik by the collar of his shirt and starts walking off) Come, you publicity hound.

**Erik:** PUBLICITY HOUND?!?! WHO'S the publicity hound?! It's not ME!

**Masque:** Yeah, yeah, whatever. I still say: egotistical male publicity hound. Heel!

**Erik: **(Pulls out Punjab) Say that again.

**Triple A:** Egotistical male publicity…wait, is that…? It is. Oh no. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – The Dinner**

**A/N:** EEEEEE! 4 reviews in one day?! Plus 1 Favorite Author, 2 Author Alerts, 2 Favorite Stories and 2 Story Alerts? I FEEL SO LOVED!!! Thankayou, peoples:D You make me happy. And a happy authoress is one that updates frequently…:)

Just a side note: I'm starting school again this Monday. Argh. But you know what that means – updates will most likely be less frequent. But, don't despair! I'll try, really! Plus, with all these marvelous reviews, how can I _not_ do so…(basks in the glow)

Oh, yeah, and the disclaimer: NOTHING IS MINE. Except Winter. And Mademoiselle Henrietta Moreaux. Oh, and…Winter's dad. (Shudder)

ENJOY THE CHAPTER!!!!! You have received your instruction. Please follow it accordingly.

* * *

Audric adjusted his cravat and posed in the full-length mirror. He was looking extremely sharp in a black-and-white dress suit, with his shoulder-length dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and spotless white gloves adorning his hands. His black boots were so well polished that he could see his reflection in them. 

Humming a nameless tune, he turned and left the house, stepping into the waiting carriage outside.

Mademoiselle Henrietta Moreaux's Paris townhouse was enormous. Due to its size, it required no small amount of staff, and she clearly spared none of her servants. Despite the fact that he was hardly the first person to arrive at the ball, there was still a footman in red-and-brown livery to open the door of his carriage and another to take his hat, coat, and gloves. As he went further into the house, he caught sight of his hostess and, catching her eye, bowed deeply.

"Why, good evening!" she called to him, and he went over to her. "I'm so glad you made it! Do you know, Audric, I was half afraid you wouldn't come," she confided in a low voice. He bowed again, this time over her hand, and took the opportunity to murmur in her ear,

"What reason would you have to think that I would stay away? Indeed, it near breaks my heart to part from the presence of your beauty."

She blushed lightly as he stood up and inquired politely, "Might I ask if the first dance with you is taken?"

She smiled. "I've been saving it for you."

"Then may I have the first dance?"

"Indeed you may."

He smiled and moved away. _Idiot.__ It's fortunate that she's so stupid. A pity that she hasn't got the intelligence to go with her looks – but then again, women weren't meant to be intelligent._ Unconsciously, his hand slipped inside his pocket and tightened on the single glove that he had brought with him. _That's why they're so easy to manipulate._

A few minutes later, the music for the first dance began, and he turned to single out his partner. As he led her out onto the ballroom floor, another fleeting thought crossed his mind.

_It's like an intricate dance, really. You must match your partner's steps with your own and keep the motions fluid and rhythmic. Then, at the end of the dance, when you know the other's strengths and flaws…you strike the final blow._ He spun Henrietta around. _The game of deceit.__ It's as simple as that, really_.

OoOoOoOoO

The Phantom of the Opera was not accustomed to receiving mail. Therefore, he was no little bit surprised when he returned from dropping off some choice pieces of correspondence and found a letter lying on top of a flat rock by the lake. He picked it up and read the address.

TO ERIK, THE HOUSE BY THE LAKE, THE OPERA HOUSE, PARIS.

Well, that was him. He scanned the line beneath it.

AND TO WINTER, AT THE SAME ADDRESS.

Curious, he tore the envelope open and pulled out the single piece of foolscap inside. Written in a large, fancy hand was the following message:

_Monsieur Erik and Mademoiselle Winter,_

_You are invited to a private dinner party at our__ flat at six thirty this evening. Please attend._

_-The __daroga__ and Darius-_

Erik read the note again before folding it in half and tucking it in his cloak, laughing quietly the entire time. He wondered what Winter would have to say to such a request.

"Oh, let's go, please!"

He stared at her. "You _want_ to go?"

"_Can_ we? I like the daroga," she said, eyes shining happily. "And I want to meet his friend Darius!"

"Darius is not his _friend_," Erik said, perhaps a bit more sharply than he meant to. "Darius is the daroga's servant."

"Well, I want to meet him. Please say we can go!" she begged. Erik regarded her thoughtfully. She had been in the house by the lake for quite a long time, and she didn't have any opportunities to get out, since she never accompanied Erik on his haunting trips.

"Well…have you mastered that piece I gave you to practice?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes! I could play it in my sleep!"

"In that case," he said thoughtfully, "I don't see that there's any reason why you couldn't play it for the daroga, then, if he should happen to own a pianoforte."

"YAY!"

He smiled at her excitement and glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Hmm. We have an hour and a half before we need to be there. We'd better start getting ready, then."

OoOoOoOoO

The daroga paced nervously back and forth across the living room of his flat, occasionally pausing to look at the clock, only to curse and resume pacing. Darius stood nearby, pretending to dust an end table but in reality keeping a sharp eye on his master.

Finally, the Persian threw himself into a chair and began beating a rapid tattoo on one of the arms with his fingers. A quiet growling sound emitted steadily from the back of his throat as he glared at the clock, watching the hands move oh-so-slowly towards six thirty.

The only reason he had invited Erik was because he felt that the little girl needed a breath of fresh air. Of course, there was also the _other_ reason, which was to see how she was doing. It wasn't that the daroga didn't trust Erik to take good care of her – well, okay, that was _exactly_ the problem. He _didn't_ trust Erik.

Now the only problem was that he didn't know if Erik would show up. He should have put a "please RSVP" in the letter. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes to six-thirty, and Erik hadn't arrived yet. He ground out another profanity and jumped to his feet.

At the same time, Darius, who had left the room a few moments before, re-entered and announced the arrival of "Monsieur Erik and Mademoiselle Winter."

Erik entered first. Deprived of his hat, cloak, and gloves, he wasn't quite as threatening as he usually was. His incredible height was still daunting, though.

"Hello, Erik," the daroga said in a carefully polite tone of voice. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Erik regarded him for a moment before chuckling quietly. "Don't expect me to believe for a moment that you invited us out of the goodness of your heart," he said sharply. "You don't trust me, do you?"

The daroga was spared from answering by the entrance of Winter, who was towing Darius along behind her and chattering nonstop at such rapid speeds that it was a wonder he could understand her. The Persian was struck speechless for a moment as he stared at her. Erik watched him, a smirk toying with the corners of his mouth.

She looked absolutely stunning in a royal blue dress of a fairly simple design that matched her eyes. Her hair was done up in a fancy, intricate braid that shocked the daroga merely because he hadn't known that Erik knew how to style hair.

"She is pretty, isn't she?" Erik said, and the daroga glanced at him.

"Yes…extremely so. But can you get her to stop talking Darius's ear off?"

"Oh, I don't know," Erik said. "It rather looks as though he's enjoying himself. Don't you think?"

The daroga really couldn't tell, mainly because Winter and Darius had disappeared into the kitchen to finish making dinner. Lightly shrugging his shoulders, he waved Erik into a seat and took one himself.

There was silence between the two men for a time, and then Erik spoke.

"I had never expected to come here again."

"I hadn't expected you to come here again, either," the Persian said frankly. "You realize, don't you, that the girl has given you the will to live."

Erik glanced at him. "Of course."

"That's quite amazing."

Erik snorted. "For me, yes."

Silence fell. It wasn't awkward, really; it was more _thoughtful_. Finally Erik said,

"Oh, that reminds me. I was supposed to kill you the next time I saw you."

The daroga started. "I beg your pardon?!"

Erik leaned forward and fixed him with a piercing glare. "Who gave you permission to tell Winter about the rosy hours of Mazenderan?"

The daroga became defensive. "Well, I could hardly leave it up to you, now could I? Besides, from all appearances, her trust in you hasn't been destroyed because of it."

Erik scowled, but let the matter drop. The daroga watched him for a moment before asking casually,

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

Erik glanced at him, then spoke. "Christine came by – the day before yesterday."

Almost without realizing it, the daroga sat bolt upright, all his attention focused on Erik. "And?"

Erik emitted a short, derisive laugh. "Don't worry yourself, daroga, I assure you that I allowed her to leave freely. In fact, I encouraged her departure." His gaze flitted in the direction of the kitchen. "Not only did she feel it necessary to tell _the story_ in all of its detail, but then she tried to convince Winter to leave with her. To go live with her and the _viscomte_." He spat the hated title out like it was poison.

"And Winter's reaction was?"

"She came running over to me, accused Christine of telling horrible tales about me, and generally acted so upset that I commanded Christine to leave immediately."

"I hope you told Winter that those 'horrible tales' were _true_!"

"Of course!" Erik snapped with no little amount of asperity. "Do you really think so little of me, daroga, that you imagine I would keep the truth from someone I so obviously adore?"

"You were prepared to keep it from Christine," the daroga pointed out. Erik glared at him, and the Persian suddenly felt like changing the subject.

"So, ah, how have you found the weather lately?"

"I wouldn't know, since I live 5 floors underground," Erik responded stonily. The daroga coughed and looked away.

"Ah. Correct. Um…well, dinner should be served very soon."

"Good," said Erik, and left it at that.

OoOoOoOoO

Elsewhere in Paris, Audric was sitting down to dinner in Mademoiselle Moreaux's townhouse. The food was rich and expensive, and there was an abundance of it. He was particularly fond of the steak, which had been cooked extremely rare. He enjoyed seeing the blood spill out onto the plate when he cut into the meat with his knife. He liked blood – probably because red was his favorite color.

He paid no attention to the conversation going on around him, preferring to remain wrapped in his own world of dark contemplation. As the other dinner guests paid him no heed, that was not hard for him to do – at least, not until an alarmed exclamation broke into his thoughts.

"Audric! What in the world are you doing?!"

He started, as though being awoke from a particularly deep sleep, and glanced wildly at Henrietta, who had spoken, then at what he held in his hand. Unconsciously, he had pulled the small white glove from his pocket and laid it in the puddle of blood on his plate.

"Oh…" Hastily, he removed it from the plate. "Do forgive me. I've no idea…" He trailed off, staring at the stained glove in his hands.

_Even when you're not here, you're still a troublesome little brat. I have to end this…I have to FIND you!!!_

He stood abruptly. "Mademoiselle Moreaux, please forgive me. I must leave. I have…urgent business to attend to. Thank you for a most delightful evening." And turning sharply on his heel, he left the dining room.

OoOoOoOoO

Dinner had been a splendid example of Persian cuisine. Even Erik had taken it upon himself to personally praise Darius for the excellent cooking. Now, the servant had retired into the kitchen to play with Winter while Erik and the daroga remained outside and talked.

Winter's presence at the table had given rise to some new and interesting topics. One of these was the daroga's suggestion that Erik put together some sort of learning program for Winter. The girl had received this idea with the very highest enthusiasm, and so Erik was planning one with the daroga. They had retired into the Persian's library to search for books to assist them.

"Look at this one," Erik suggested. "_Poetry of the 19__th__ Century_." He opened it and flipped through the pages. "Do you suppose she'd like Edgar Allan Poe?"

"Please, Erik, little girls like to hear tales about fairies and handsome princes, not poems about morbid ravens of doom." The daroga selected another book. "Ah! Here we go. _Educational Children's Stories_. She could probably learn a lot from that."

"Is there any way that I could make a curriculum for her that revolves around music?" Erik asked curiously, selecting another book and glancing at the title on the cover before throwing it on the floor with a disinterested sound. The daroga retrieved the book and, after making sure it had suffered no damage from its mistreatment, shot a reproachful glare in Erik's direction before responding.

"I don't think that you could do that, no. However, there is the possibility that -"

He was cut off by an earsplitting scream that came from outside the library. Erik dropped the book he had been holding and shot off out the door, closely followed by the daroga.

The Phantom kicked the door to the kitchen open and took in the scene with a glance. Darius was standing near Winter, a cloth in his hand, while Winter herself was kneeling on the floor, holding her hands to her face. Blood was everywhere – on the floor, on her hands, on her dress. Erik realized with a sickening feeling that it was hers.

"What happened?!" he demanded, storming over to Darius and grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. The servant nodded his head in a half-bow.

"She slipped, sir, on the floor, and banged her face on the cabinet." He indicated a blood-spattered cabinet door. "I think she hurt her nose."

Releasing the man, Erik strode to Winter's side and started to kneel beside her, but he paused as she emitted a broken cry.

"Don't hurt me anymore! I won't do it again! I won't do it again!"

"You didn't do anything, _mon__ cher_," he said soothingly, crouching down and trying to wrap his arms around her. To his confusion and horror, she scuttled away from him, running to the furthest corner of the room and sobbing the entire time.

"Don't hit me!" she yelped, curling up in a protective ball. "Don't hurt me anymore! Please! I'll be good! Don't…don't…" Her cries trailed off into small, pathetic whimpers that tore at Erik's heart.

"What are you going to do?" the daroga whispered. Erik shook his head and, standing up, took a step towards Winter. Her reaction was to cringe and begin breathing fast in a panicked way. Erik stopped and stared at her.

"I don't know," he murmured in response to the daroga's question. "I don't know."

There was silence for a very long time. Then, finally, Erik crouched down on the floor again.

"Winter," he said gently, then more firmly, "Winter. Look at me."

She did, albeit reluctantly.

"Would I ever – have I ever – hurt you?"

She blinked. "N…no. Not you. Never."

"Then why are you acting so afraid of me?"

"It's not you. It's…" She trailed off, glancing at the blood on the floor. Then her gaze strayed to her hands, and Erik saw her eyes go wide. Before he could say anything, she screamed again. Jumping to her feet, she ran past the three men and out the door.

Ignoring the shouts behind her, she burst out of the daroga's flat and into the street, running as fast as she could go. She ran right in front of a carriage, tripped, and fell. As the man driving the carriage shouted at her, she scrambled to her feet and went back to running. She didn't know where she was running to; she didn't even know _why_ she was running. Images flashed across her mind, scenes from her suppressed memories. A man. A dark man. Anger etched on his face, cruelty in every facet of his figure. The man from the Opera House, who had terrified her so.

WHO WAS HE?!?

In the darkness, she couldn't see where she was going very well, and so she ended up colliding with the man who was walking rapidly down the sidewalk towards her. She scrambled to her feet, apologizing and trying to resume her frantic running, but he reached out and caught her arm, holding her in an iron grip. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go. Confused, frightened, and panicked, she glanced up at him. Her blue eyes met ones that matched hers perfectly - eyes that she had seen before.

As the man opened his mouth to speak, Winter let out one final hysterical scream and fainted on the sidewalk.

OoOoOoOoO

Erik raced down the sidewalk and across the street, closely followed by the daroga and Darius. Eyes with keen night vision darted from left to right, searching wildly for Winter as her scream echoed through the night. Finally, they landed upon a familiar figure in a blue dress – being picked up by a man in a tuxedo.

Emitting an angry and protective snarl, Erik ran even faster, taking out his Punjab lasso as he did so. The man saw him and half-dropped the girl on the sidewalk, turning and running away into the darkness.

Erik fell to his knees by Winter's side and brushed her hair away from her face. In a near panic, he searched for her pulse. After a moment, he let out a relieved sigh and quietly collapsed near the girl's prone body.

"She's alive," he whispered softly, and the daroga smiled.

"Well. Thank goodness for that."

Some time later, a carriage pulled up in front of the Paris Opera House, and a masked man got out carrying a young girl in his arms. Paying the driver, he then disappeared into the shadows. Nobody saw where he went, and nobody saw the secret door that he opened and slipped through.

Nobody except the dark-haired man in the tuxedo…with his daughter's eyes…

* * *

**A/N:** (Wipes brow) Whew! I banged this out in, like, TWO days. Two afternoons, more like. School is starting again tomorrow for me, like I said before, and I wanted to post another chapter before that happened…that's how much I love you guys. 

…

Okay, fine, it's how much I love your REVIEWS. (Grin) Oh, come on! Give me a break! I'm going into high school! I need your lovely, wonderful, encouraging reviews to keep up my morale. AND to keep me posting new chapters…though, truth be told, I have no desire to leave this story hanging for very long. It's so darn fun to WRITE:)

So, hang in there, my dear readers. Now that I think about it, this is actually something of a cliffhanger. (Glances up at chapter) I'm not giving anything away regarding what happens next. NOTHING. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Now, then…tomorrow's Monday. (Assumes cool action pose) BRING IT ON!!! And remember, dear readers, reviews equal raised Authoress morale, which equals chapter updates. Savvy? Good. Ta-ta now!


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 – The Vacation (Part 1)**

**Disclaimer:** Yo, dudes (and dudettes). Anything that I do not own is not mine, and anything that is mine is that which I own. (Adjusts sunglasses) In short...NONE OF IT'S MINE. Not. A. Single. Thing. Zippo. Zilch. Nada. Oh, except for Winter...and Mademoiselle Marie, and Audric. Marie's inn - The Tom-Cat Inn - is also mine. In fact, I even own the HILL they hiked up! AHAHAHAHA! ...But nothing else is mine, really. Not Erik. Not the poem that the inn is named after. Not even the song.

...That being said, let's move on!

Oh, I almost forgot - someone was polite enough to correct my French! Thank you, Elphie89!

And NOW you can go read the actual story.

* * *

Erik snapped awake and sat bolt upright in his coffin, golden eyes blazing in the pitch blackness of his unlit bedroom. His breathing echoed through the darkness, harsh and uneven. 

"Another nightmare," he murmured. "This has to stop."

Getting up, he donned his dressing gown and slipped out of his room, feet padding soundlessly across the floor. Entering the sitting-room, he went over to his desk and, sitting down, picked up Winter's painting and stared at it.

The girl had suffered no ill effects from the incident at the daroga's flat. Her bloody nose had healed quickly, as bloody noses tend to do, and other than a few scrapes and scratches she was fine. Erik, however, had suffered no end of horrible nightmares regarding the event. At least 95 percent of them featured the man who he had seen picking Winter up. He had no idea what sort of threat the man posed, but Erik disliked him intensely. His appearance in the dreams always filled Erik with a sense of rage and – more frequently – fear. Erik had been afraid of very few people in his lifetime, and the fact that this man who he didn't even know frightened him was quite unnerving.

He flung the painting down and laid his head on the smooth, cool wood surface of the desk. A few minutes later, he drifted into quiet, thankfully dreamless sleep.

OoOoOoOoO

"Erik? Erik, why are you sleeping out here? Erik?"

The voice penetrated through his sleep and reached his consciousness. Slowly, he sat upright, blinking owlishly. He was a bit sore, and couldn't imagine why – until he saw the desk in front of him.

"Did I…fall asleep…?" He ran a hand over his face and froze. "My mask."

"I'll get it for you," Winter chirped, and ran off into his room. A few minutes later she returned, carrying the mask. He took it from her with a grateful nod and put it on.

"Erik, what were you doing sleeping out here?" the girl asked. "Did you stay up late?"

"Ah…no. No, that's not it."

"Do you know what time it is?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment before turning away and running a hand through his dark hair. "No…no, I don't. What does it matter, anyway?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding very depressed. "Time all runs together down here…there _is_ no time five floors underground. Is there?"

Winter regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before saying brightly, "We should go on a vacation!"

Erik slowly turned to stare at her. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"After I woke up the other night, before we went home, the daroga said you might get like this," she explained. "He said that we should go on a vacation."

Erik shook his head disbelievingly. "That man…suggests the most _insane_ things behind my back."

"_He_ said we ought to go to a place called Perros," Winter suggested brightly, warming to her theme and completely oblivious of any disapproval Erik might have towards the idea. "Where's that?"

"Where's what?"

"Perros," she prompted. He blinked.

"Um. It's a small coastal town…not many people." An ideal vacation spot, actually.

"Then that means it's by the sea! Will we get to ride on a sailboat? Huh?"

Erik blinked. "Wait a minute! I didn't say we were going!"

All the excitement drained out of Winter's expression, and she looked completely heartbroken, like a beaten puppy.

"…But if you're going to be like _that_, I shall start packing immediately."

"YAAAAAY!"

OoOoOoOoO

The proprietress of The Tom-Cat Inn – named after the poem by Don Marquis – was an attractive, sprightly young woman. She had curly chestnut-colored hair, a ruddy complexion, and bright, cheerful brown eyes. The happy air about her had only been enhanced of late – it was nearing the end of summer, and a good deal of rich patrons who had not gotten in their summer vacations were rushing to have them before the weather got far too cold to do so. Perros was a popular spot for such last-minute vacation trips, and since The Tom-Cat Inn was one of the few inns in the small town, Marie Swann (the name of the proprietress) was earning a good deal of money. She was also being kept quite busy, but she really didn't mind all that much – the money aside, Marie was the sort of woman who liked having things to do. That was probably why she was so good at her job.

She happened to be straightening a picture in the foyer of the inn when the door swung open and a very pretty young girl came running in. Her long, straight mercury-colored hair was pulled back in a tidy ponytail, and she was wearing a lovely blue-and-green dress that complimented her eyes but accentuated the paleness of her skin.

As Marie watched her with interest, the girl came over and smiled brightly up at the woman.

"Hello!" she said cheerfully. "My name is Winter. I'm here from Paris, and I'm going to get to ride in a sailboat! Erik said so," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

Marie was immediately taken with the beautiful child, but before she could inquire as to the identity of the mysterious Erik, a deep, beautiful voice resonated through the room.

"I said no such thing, _ma __cherie_. You shouldn't go around making things up."

"But we _will_ go on a ride in a sailboat, won't we?" Winter asked in a pleading tone of voice as Marie turned to look at the new arrival.

She couldn't see him very clearly at first, since he was silhouetted in the open door, but when he stepped forward and closed the door behind himself she saw that he was a very tall, thin, well-dressed man – wearing a mask.

"Who are you?" she asked, perhaps a little more sharply than she had intended. The man didn't get a chance to respond.

"He's Erik!" Winter chirped. "Remember, I told you about him." She smiled winningly at Marie. "He has to wear a mask because he's got really sensitive skin," she explained. "If it's exposed to sun for too long, he could get really bad sunburn."

Marie glanced at Erik, all of her suspicions expelled. "Oh! I see. Please forgive me, monsieur. Naturally I was a little bit suspicious of you…"

"It's quite alright," he assured her, and his voice sent tingles down her spine. "Your reaction is normal. Are you Mademoiselle Swann?"

She nodded. Her name was on the sign outside the inn. "Yes, I am."

"I congratulate you on the originality of the name of this establishment. Don Marquis, am I correct?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Yes, you're absolutely correct. I am surprised, Monsieur…" She trailed off.

"Erik," he supplied. "I simply go by Erik."

"Monsieur Erik, then. As I said, I'm surprised that you knew. The majority of my patrons do not know that the name of my inn is based on the title of a poem."

Erik smiled. "_At midnight in the alley_," he quoted,

"_A Tom-Cat comes to wail,_

_ And he chants the hate of a million years_

_As he swings his snaky tail_."

"And you've memorized it?" Marie said, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice. "Not even I have done that much."

"Oh, Erik's memorized lots and lots of poems," Winter broke in. "He knows more poems by heart than _anybody_."

Erik chuckled and, stepping forward, tousled the girl's hair. "Well, I wouldn't say I know more than _anybody_, though even I can hardly deny that I have memorized a great deal." He turned to look at Marie. "And you, mademoiselle. Do you like poetry?"

At their proximity, Marie found it impossible not to notice his incredible height. He towered over her, and she wasn't a small woman.

"Um, yes," she said, finding it hard to concentrate all of a sudden. "I am quite fond of it, actually, but I have memorized only a few poems, and those are very short ones."

"Indeed. You shall have to recite them to me later; I am always on the lookout for new poetry to add to my repertoire." He inclined his head in a half-bow. "Now, mademoiselle, Winter and I would like to spend perhaps a week at your charming little inn."

Marie forcibly tore herself out of the dreamlike state which she seemed to have entered. "Um…of course! Ah, will you be wanting one room or two?"

Erik's face took on a thoughtful expression behind his mask. After a moment, he said in a questioning voice,

"Do you have two available rooms that are next to or across the hall from each other?"

Marie smiled at his obvious affection for the young girl next to him. "As a matter of fact, I do. Please follow me."

OoOoOoOoO

Audric got out of his carriage and paid the driver before walking up to the inn and regarding the sign with narrowed eyes. The Rising Sun Inn – a relatively high-end establishment. At least, for Perros it was. He nodded imperceptibly – a silent approval of the place where he was to stay – before dismissing the carriage with a wave of his hand and stalking inside.

As he followed the innkeeper up to his room, he pondered his plan for the next few days. Almost a week of watching the Opera House had paid off, and he had seen the masked man and the girl leaving in the carriage. He had dashed off a quick telegram regarding his luggage and where it was to be sent – he had packed days ago in anticipation of such an event – and then he had jumped in his carriage and set off after them.

Now he was here. He wasn't quite sure where they were staying or what they would be doing, but one thing he knew for certain.

He would find out.

OoOoOoOoO

Erik stood on the balcony outside of his room and stared out at the ocean view. Outside, with the salt air stinging his nostrils and the gulls circling high above, he felt almost free. With his cover story of a skin condition, he could walk about like a normal human being without being treated like a potential robber or bandit by every person he encountered. Having spent one night at The Tom-Cat Inn, he had awoken more refreshed than he had in days – possibly due to the fact that he had suffered from exactly zero nightmares.

During dinner the night before and breakfast that morning, Winter had successfully captured the hearts of every single patron of the inn. Even a gruff, antisocial retired soldier had come over to tell Erik that Winter reminded him of his own daughter when she had been younger. As Winter had circulated the room, stopping at tables and talking with their inhabitants, Erik might have been jealous and more than a little upset – except for the fact that after talking to someone, Winter always came running back to tell Erik about them. She had even tried to drag him over to meet somebody once, and after he had refused to budge from the table, she had brought them over to meet him. Now, the next day, it made him smile to remember it.

His moment of quiet contemplation was interrupted when Winter came running out onto the balcony.

"Erik! Erik! Guess what?"

He turned and looked at her. Her hair was done up in a loose braid, and she was wearing a silky light blue dress, thin white gloves, and a white straw hat with a gauzy sky-blue scarf tied around the brim.

"What is it, _ma __cherie_?"

She came to a halt in front of him and grabbed his hand. "Lord Hunt – he's one of the guests here – he said that he was thinking about going on a nature hike and he wanted you and me to come with him!"

Erik frowned. "Just you and me?"

"Well, no, he invited everybody," she said, "but he asked me specially, and he told me to see if you would come along too."

"A nature hike?" Erik echoed her words of a few moments ago. "I've never been on one of those before. I don't know -"

"Then you ought to come! It's always good to try new things! Let's go!" And with a final tug on his hand, Winter let him go and ran off out the door. Erik suddenly realized that she was going to leave without him.

"Winter! Winter, wait for me! Come back!" Running out into the hall, he left his door hanging open as he chased after the girl. "Winter -"

Suddenly, a door nearby flew open and Mademoiselle Swann stepped out into the hall. Erik couldn't stop in time, and he crashed into her. Skidding to a halt, he caught her before she hit the floor.

"Do forgive me, mademoiselle," he said. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm afraid – what's this?" Standing up, he lifted her to her feet and then bent down and picked up the book on the floor. Turning it over, he read the title on the spine. "_Classic Romantic Poetry_?"

Marie blushed bright scarlet. "Just something I dug out of my private library," she murmured. "Our conversation yesterday made me think of it."

"Oh, you have a private library? How interesting! So do I." Erik handed her the book and would have said more, except at that moment he heard the door to the inn close and remembered what he had been doing. "Excuse me, mademoiselle, but I have a nature hike to go on. WINTER!" he called, running down the stairs. "Wait for me!"

Marie watched him go, then, when she heard the door slam shut, she slumped against the wall in a half-faint.

"Erik…" she whispered in a dreamy voice. Though she had yet to realize it, the young proprietress was well on her way to being madly in love with her mysterious masked patron. The way he had to hide his sensitive face behind a mask all the time; the affection he showed for his daughter – or perhaps younger sister; his open love of poetry and his beautiful voice; all of these things contributed to her growing fascination with the man.

And he, being totally clueless regarding her emotions, was consequently doing nothing to stop them.

Poor Erik.

OoOoOoOoO

"Poor Erik" was not feeling poor at all. Quite the contrary, actually; he was feeling rather wonderful, and as a result, glad that he had chosen to go on the nature hike. Lord Hunt, a handsome middle-aged man with white hair and a profuse mustache, had dropped back from the front of the group several times to talk with Erik, mostly about Winter, but about other things too – for example, what Erik did for a living. Fortunately, Erik was spared from answering this question by a cry from the front of the group.

"We reached the top! Erik, come look!"

Recognizing Winter's voice, Erik and Lord Hunt both hurried forward. The group had reached the top of the hill, and now everyone was wandering about, looking around and exclaiming at the marvelous view.

When Erik finally caught sight of Winter, he found that she was standing near the edge of the hill – too near for his tastes. Hastening his pace, he reached her side and took her gently by the arm.

"Erik, isn't it pretty?" she asked, looking up at his face, her eyes shining with delight. He nodded.

"Yes, very pretty," he said vaguely. "Step back a bit, dear." When she had obliged, he looked out at the scenery.

He drew in a sharp breath at the sight. It was extraordinarily beautiful. He could see not only the small town of Perros, but also sweeping tracts of countryside leading back towards Paris, as well as the cliffs that dropped off to the pounding ocean surf and the path that led down to the beach. Winter pointed out at a small sailboat coming in to shore.

"We'll get to go on one of those tomorrow, right, Erik?"

He looked down at her. "Of course we will, _ma __cherie_. Now, come here." She obediently stepped closer to his side, and he rested one hand on her head.

"Do you see that graveyard down there?" he asked after they had both been silent for some time. Winter nodded. "I went there once."

"Really? Why?"

Erik thought for a moment before responding. "I played the violin for Christine."

"The mean lady? Who said bad things about you?"

Erik made a noncommittal "hmm" sound and fell silent. As they stood there, the late afternoon sun shining on Winter's face and glinting dully off of Erik's mask, the other members of the group cast interested glances in their direction – especially the women. In his haste to follow Winter, Erik had neglected to don his cloak, and thus he was wearing only his boots, pants, mask, gloves, and ruffly white shirt, which was open almost to the waist.

Finally, it was time to go back down. Winter was visibly exhausted by the time they reached the bottom of the hill, so Erik picked her up and carried her back to the inn in his arms. Halfway across the street, he paused. He was being watched. Without warning, he spun and met the eyes of the man who was standing on the other side of the street – but only for a moment. The man whirled around and stalked away into the lengthening shadows, giving Erik no time to see who he was. The Phantom was half-tempted to pursue the man and reveal his identity, for a nagging thought at the back of his mind kept telling him that he had seen the stranger before. In the end, however, he turned and entered the Tom-Cat Inn.

After he had put Winter in bed, he returned downstairs in order to get something to eat. As he entered the main dining room, he heard an exclamation behind him. The next thing he knew, Mademoiselle Swann was at his side.

"Ah, Monsieur Erik! Back from your nature hike, I see. But where is the little girl?"

Erik smiled at the proprietress of the inn. "Winter," he said gently, thinking of her sleeping upstairs. "She was very tired. I put her to bed. Am I too late for dinner?"

"Oh! No, of course not! Please sit down and I'll bring you some food." After seeing that he was comfortably seated, she rushed off to the kitchens.

When she returned, she was bearing a plate with a sandwich on it in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. Her face was prettily flushed from the heat of the stove, and she seemed slightly out of breath as she placed the dishes on the table before him and took a step back.

"Can I get you something to drink as well?" she inquired politely. Erik shook his head, taking a bite of soup. After swallowing, he responded,

"No, thank you, I'm -" He froze, the spoon halfway between his mouth and the bowl.

"What? What is it? Is it too hot? Too cold?" Marie asked frantically. Of course she wanted all of her patrons to enjoy their dinner, but M. Erik especially. "We have another kind of soup – I'll go make you some of that!" She turned and was going to go back to the kitchens, but suddenly Erik's hand shot out and clamped around her arm.

"No," he said flatly. "Don't. This is stupendous. After I have finished it, is it possible that I might have the recipe?"

Marie blushed slightly as he released her. "Ah…of course! I keep the recipes for all of my dishes, even if I have them memorized…I guess it's sort of a collection of mine…so, does your daughter cook, then?"

He blinked. "Who, Winter? Actually, I have no idea if she cooks or not. I think she's a bit young to do so, however." He chuckled. "No, I do the cooking. I've lived alone for a great part of my life, so I'm a fairly competent chef, if I may say so."

"Really!" In truth, Marie was surprised to hear this. Erik didn't seem like the sort of man who would cook…what other things did she not know about him? She searched her brain for a topic of conversation. "So…do you take your mask off when you sleep?"

Even as she chided herself for her stupid question, Erik's expression turned angry under the item of discussion. As he was about to dismiss her coldly, a voice at his elbow piped up,

"Did you know that Erik sings _really_ well?"

Startled, Erik looked down to see Winter standing next to him. "Winter? When did you come downstairs?"

She giggled. "Silly Erik! I woke up because I was hungry."

"Silly _Winter_. I was going to bring something up to you." But he was smiling, and found himself feeling rather delighted that the little girl had come to join him. Winter's presence always lightened his mood.

"You sing?" Marie said in response to Winter's comment. "Really? Will you sing for us?"

"Yes, Erik, sing for us!" Winter urged him. Erik sat in thoughtful silence for a moment.

"I'm not done eating yet," he said abruptly. "Why don't you sing for us, Winter? Then you can have some of Mlle. Marie's excellent soup."

Winter perked up at this chance to show off her prowess. "Alright! But…what should I sing?"

Erik bent down and whispered something in her ear. She smiled, then whispered back in his ear. He blinked, then sighed in a defeated manner.

"Very well, _ma __cherie_. I will accompany you on the piano, though my stomach may protest." He cast a rueful glance at his bowl of soup.

"I'll take it back to the kitchen and keep it warm for you," Marie volunteered. "The piano is over there in the corner."

"Yay! Come on, Erik!"

The Phantom rolled his eyes good-humoredly and followed the excited young girl over to the piano. Sitting down, he played a few quick chords and then nodded to her. Taking a deep breath, she began.

"_**Dancing bears, p**__**ainted wings,**_

_____**Things I almost remember,**_

_________**And**__** a song **__**someone sings**_

___________**Once upon a December.**_

_________________**Someone holds me safe and warm,**_

_____________________**Horses branch through a silver storm,**_

_________________________**Figures dancing gracefully**_

___________________________**Across**__** my memory!**_

_____________________________** Far away, long ago,**_

_______________________________**Glowing dim as an ember**_

_________________________________**Things my heart used to know**_

_________________________________**Once upon a December.**_

___________________________________** Someone holds me safe and warm,**_

_____________________________________**Horses prance through a silver storm,**_

_______________________________________**Figures dancing gracefully**_

_______________________________________**Across my memory!**_

_________________________________________** Far away, long ago,**_

___________________________________________**Glowing dim as an ember,**_

_____________________________________________**Things my heart used to know,**_

_____________________________________________**Things it yearns to remember**__**…**_

_____________________________________________** And a song**_

_____________________________________________**Someone**__** sings**__**…**_

_____________________________________________**Once upon a December**_."

The applause was thunderous. In fact, the girl received a standing ovation. Not used to so much attention, she went over to Erik and clung to him while people came up to congratulate her. After a short while, everyone went back to their seats, and since they all seemed to be waiting for something, Erik launched into another song on the piano which didn't require a vocal accompaniment since it was stupendous all on its own.

OoOoOoOoO

Outside in the street, a figure swathed in a dark cloak stood, eyes fixated upon The Tom-Cat Inn. He was not the only person who had paused to listen to the angelic young voice issuing from the building, but he was the only person who had been looking for the owner of the angelic voice.

And now that he had found her…what next?

As a carriage sped past down the street, cutting off his view of the inn, Audric inhaled sharply and turned on his heel, walking away into the shadows. His plans could wait until the morrow. He was in no enormous hurry to retrieve the brat. He would strike when it was convenient. For him.

Footpads who might have viewed the man as potential prey stayed hidden in the shadows as he stalked past. All their instincts told them that he was a fellow who was not to be trifled with – a man who was worse than the worst of them. So they let him pass on unharmed.

Their instincts were quite correct. Audric was a man not to be trifled with. A dangerous man. A deadly man. And a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

The hunter had found his prey. And the next morning would find the hunter doing what he did best – hunting.

* * *

**A3:** HEYAH! Long time no chappie update, _non_? Well, guess what? I'm BACK! And here with me to comment on my newly posted update is my ever-loving muse, ERIK! 

**Erik:** (Glower) You deserve to be Punjabbed. Dragging me away from composing an opera to help you comment on your story! How could you need HELP to comment on your OWN story? (Pause) Should you even BE commenting on your own story? Isn't that for the reviewers to do?

**A3:** Probably, but I am amused by it. Plus, you'll be delighted to hear that we got some charming notes from reviewers over the week!

**Erik:** Weeks. WEEKS. Plural.

**A3:** Not really…it's only Friday! So it's more like a week and three quarters.

**Erik:** Rounded, that's two weeks.

**A3:** OH BE QUIET! (Regains composure) Now then. Reviewer notes. Hmm, this one is interesting. Hey, she says she adores my story! Her friends adore it too! YAY! But what's this? "I wonder what Erik has to say -"

**Erik:** One of your reviewers is asking my opinion? I must be dreaming.

**A3:** (Pokes) Shhhhh! "I wonder what Erik has to say when I tell him he is really hot on one side and, well, not so much on the other! Tell him he rules either way. P.S. Tell me what Erik says to my remark where you guys always fight at the bottom of the chappy!"

**Both:** (Silence)

**A3:** We do not FIGHT.

**Erik:** No. Not always, anyway.

**A3:** Sometimes we have perfectly calm, logical discussions! Like…like…

**Erik:** (Trying to be helpful) Like at the bottom of Chapter 8?

**A3:** (Twitch) That…was not…funny.

**Erik:** Oh, I don't know, I found it highly amusing.

**A3:** Well, YOU weren't the one on the business end of the PUNJAB LASSO, now WERE you, Mr. Smart-Aleck Half-Masked Egotistical Publicity Hound Muse?!?!??!?!?!?

**Erik:** (Counts) Ooh. My title has gotten longer. What was it last time you mentioned it? Egotistical male publicity hound? And it wasn't even capitalized then.

**A3:** (Quietly smolders in background) Well…we'll be..going…now…please review…grrrrr…

**Erik:** (Casually) Have you ever considered the fact that you might be intimidating your readers? After all, _I_ certainly wouldn't review the story of someone who growled at me.

**A3:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHH!

**Erik:** (Looks after her) Or screamed and ran away…hmm. It looks like I'll be answering reviews for this chapter, then. I shall endeavor to fill her place as best I can.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – The Vacation (Part 2)**

**A/N:** Okay, firstly…Don't mob me! I know I've been a rather long time getting this chapter up, but I've been busy with school, fencing club, youth group, etc. Plus, I have TWO TESTS this week, so it's a wonder that this is getting posted at ALL. Heh. This chapter actually got written when I was supposed to be studying. Don't tell, 'kay:)

As for all of you whose review replies were postponed for so dang long…that's not my fault. Blame Erik. He was SUPPOSED to deal with that. He shall be punished, fear not. I'll consume massive amounts of sugar and then force him to watch all of my favorite TV shows with me. That oughta be fun. Hee.

Okay, now that I'm done with that…the disclaimer. Ahem.

Everything is Gaston Leroux's and Andrew Lloyd Webber's. Any other copyrighted material (songs, poems, etc.) belong to their rightful owners. However, just about everything else is mine. All original characters, anyway.

Get it? Got it? Great. Moving on, then.

* * *

"Erik! Come on, the boat's about to leave!" 

"I'm coming, _ma __cherie_." Sighing wearily, Erik followed Winter onto the _Summer Frost_, a small red dinghy with white sails. After warning the young girl not to go near the sides of the boat, he joined Lord Hunt by the mast. The gentleman, who had volunteered to accompany the two on their boat ride, chuckled at seeing how obviously exhausted the other man was.

"Energetic, isn't she?"

Erik cast him a tired glance. "You have _no_ idea."

"Oh, believe me, I do," the man assured him. "I had a daughter once too. Wild and rambunctious she was, quite the handful."

"She didn't get you up at six in the morning to go explore every single inch of a coastal town," the Phantom grumbled. "I had no idea how big Perros actually was until about one-thirty this afternoon."

"Be grateful. _My_ daughter once attempted to see the entirety of Paris in one day, when we were visiting from London. And she took me with her."

"You poor man."

"My sentiments precisely at the time." Lord Hunt grinned. "Now she's all grown up. Lives in America now. She visits occasionally. And oddly enough, that day spent roaming Paris has become one of my fondest memories. You'll probably look back on this day sometime soon and smile."

Erik's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Tell me that when my feet stop aching."

Lord Hunt threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, well said, my dear fellow, well said!" He was silent for a moment, watching Winter try to move across the tossing deck without falling over. Then he murmured, perhaps to himself, "They aren't young forever."

Erik heard but gave no response to the comment. He didn't want to think about what might happen in the future. Would Winter grow up, leave the Opera House, get married and form a life of her own? Would she become an anonymous specter like himself, haunting the opera and its patrons for years to come? The thought made him smile. _Carrying on the legacy, eh?_

Suddenly, Lord Hunt spoke up again. "I say, you over there! Come talk with us!"

Erik looked up to see who his companion was addressing. A third man was sitting on a barrel nearby, staring off into space and ignoring everything around him. Despite the warmth of the day, he wore a black cloak which was wrapped around his person, with the hood up so that it threw the features of his face into shadow. He gave no response to Lord Hunt's hail, other than to wrap his cloak more tightly about himself and tug the hood down further over his face.

"Hmph." Such was Lord Hunt's reaction to this obvious disregard of his cordial invitation. "Who does the chap think he is? A king or something? Rotter." His ruminations faded away into unintelligible grumbles, and soon he lapsed into silence. After some time of this total quiet, Erik moved off to go in search of Winter, who had disappeared. He suspected she'd gone to speak to the captain, but when he went to find the man, Winter was not with him. The captain suggested that maybe she'd gone below decks. Erik thanked him and made his way down into the belly of the vessel.

He was halfway down the stairs when the scream reached his ears.

"Help! Somebody help me! ERIK!!!"

He turned and ran up the stairs as fast as he could. Bursting out onto the deck, the first sight that met his eyes was that of Winter struggling in the grip of the cloaked man, screaming at the top of her lungs. Erik bolted across the deck towards her, but as he did so the ship pitched violently and he fell to the deck. As he tried to regain his footing, the man began dragging Winter towards the side of the ship. He was almost there when Lord Hunt appeared out of nowhere and bodily tackled the man. Caught off guard, the man fell down but didn't release his grip on Winter.

"Leave the girl alone, old boy," Lord Hunt growled, dodging a blow from the strange man's fist. "I warn you, I've hunted tigers in India, I've taught boxing lessons and I've done a dozen other things that make you look like the paltriest worm!" He ducked another blow and landed one of his own on the stranger's nose. "Which you are anyway, for trying to kidnap a little girl. Now then, we can settle this peacefully or I can snap your arm like a twig. Release her!"

Winter did her part by squirming in the man's grip, trying to tug away and screaming her head off. By this time, Erik had gotten to his feet and was racing towards the small group, with the captain of the dinghy hard on his heels.

Then, it happened. It seemed like it took only a split second. Lord Hunt lost his balance as the ship pitched again and, as a result, couldn't avoid the next blow that the man struck. It landed on his mouth and sent him flying backwards across the deck until he landed flat on his back, unconscious and with a bleeding lip. In the meantime, the strange man jumped to his feet, dragged Winter up by the hair, and dove overboard, taking her with him.

Erik didn't waste a moment. Shedding his cloak while he ran, he reached the side of the boat and executed a graceful dive into the water. By some miracle, the impact didn't tear his mask from his face, but that was the least of his worries right now. Resurfacing, he looked wildly about.

"WINTER!"

No response. He turned in the water and saw the stranger swimming away towards shore with long, powerful strokes. Erik started after him, then realized that as fast as he was swimming, he couldn't have Winter with him anymore. Then…where was she?

"WINTER!" he shouted again. "Winter, answer me! Where are you? WINTER!"

"Sir, we need to head back to shore," the captain called nervously from the boat. "I dunno if Lord Hunt is seriously injured or not…can you come back now?"

But Erik wasn't listening. "WINTER!!"

"Sir! We really need to go now…there's a storm front coming in." Having caught Erik's attention, the captain pointed at the gathering clouds on the horizon. "If you don't come back, you'll be drowned."

Realizing the folly of searching for Winter in the middle of the ocean, Erik turned back and, with the help of a sturdy rope and the captain, got back in the dinghy. As the captain turned the boat back to shore, the Phantom stood in the stern of the _Summer Frost_, watching…hoping…

But they returned to the dock with no sign of the little girl.

OoOoOoOoO

There was a considerable uproar at The Tom-Cat Inn when Erik returned bearing the unconscious Lord Hunt in his arms. Mademoiselle Swann showed him to the man's room, and Erik laid him down on the bed while Marie rushed off to call a doctor. When she returned, Erik was no longer there.

She caught him just as he was going out the door. "Erik! Wait!"

He paused, hand on the doorknob. "No."

"But…there's a storm coming!"

He turned and glanced up at her, and she was astounded at the amount of rage burning in his eyes.

"Yes, Mlle. Swann. There _is_ a storm coming. The storm of the Phantom's wrath." And without another word, he turned and stalked from the inn.

* * *

**A3:** Yes, it's short. Somewhere around 2 pages. But like I said - I have tests to study for. Remember the tests! 

**Erik:** (Pops up out of nowhere) Remember the Alamo?

**A3:** No, remember the TESTS. (Suspicious look) Where did you come from anyway?

**Erik:** Nowhere. Now, come. You have fencing lessons. (Grabs her arm and drags her off)

**A3:** NOOOO! DON'T MAKE ME! MY LEG IS STILL SORE FROM THE LAST 150 LUNGES!!!

**Erik:** You should have stretched more. Come along now.

**A3:** (Sob) Goodbye...I'll be back...please review...Erik! YOU'RE SO MEAN!

**Erik:** Don't be ridiculous. This is good for you. 'Bye now. (Waves cheerily to reviewers)


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 – The Masquerade**

**A/N:** Hiya peoples! Sorry it took me so dang long to update. I really have no excuse, other than that I've been studying REALLY hard for a science test. So...don't kill me. (Peace sign)

OH! That reminds me! Of two things, actually. Number 1 - the story is coming to an end. Probably one or two more chapters after this, then it'll be over. :'( As for the second thing...I got Susan Kay's _Phantom_ at the bookstore yesterday! WOOT! Apparently it's out of print or something...I dunno...the point is, I HAVE IT. It's mine. And I'm already one-quarter of the way through. (Hugs book protectively)

Okay...enough of that. DISCLAIMER: I own very little, if not nothing. It's all Leroux's. And Webber's. Except for the things that are mine. :D Moving on! The story.

* * *

What was she doing on a beach? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ to know. But she did know that just before landing on the beach, she'd hit the water…

Water. A boat. That was it. Her hand reached up to touch the wound on her head. It was an old wound, but she had hit it on the bottom of the boat when she fell in the water, and it had reopened. She wiped the blood away with her sleeve.

She'd always hated that color. Red. The color of blood. The color of the wounds her father inflicted on her whenever he beat her. Red red red red red red…father. Her father. Tall, darkly handsome. What he did for a living…married rich women. Killed them. Lived on their inheritance. Scum. The lowest scum of the earth.

Where was he?

Other memories gnawed at the back of her mind, but she pushed them away. This was important. She tried to focus her thoughts on her father. What did she remember about him? It seemed like such a long time…a long time since she'd seen him last…

_"Don't approach! You filthy thing, I don't want you close, do you hear me?"_

That was right. He'd pushed her…she'd hit her head. But that had been at the Paris Opera House, in Box 5.

Why was she on a beach?

"Well, I see you've bothered to wake up. Rather rude of you to make me wait for you, don't you think?"

She looked up, and there he was. Handsome as always, yet undeniably evil. Dark. Cruel. Heartless. She knew better than to speak. She watched him without making a sound. He grinned. His teeth glittered in the cold light. His smile was terrifying. This was his true smile. Yet she felt no fear.

"You know, you look like a rat." He grinned. "A drowned rat. A drowned _albino_ rat." He stepped forward and rested a hand on her head, as if in a caress. Then, suddenly, his hand fisted and he jerked her to her feet by her hair.

"You're a freak, you know that? You're a filthy little freak. You belong in a circus."

"Father, I -"

His hand struck her cheek. She didn't turn away, didn't bring a hand up to touch the red mark flaming on her pale skin.

"How could you?!" he screamed. "You ran away, you left, you disappeared! I thought you were dead! And then you turned up again with that – that – that _masked man_! I missed you," he said, his voice suddenly lowering to a near-unintelligible murmur. "I wanted you to come back. I wanted to get you back. But you always…somehow…that man…I couldn't get near you." His face twisted in a snarl. "That night in Paris, I had you! I had you in my arms, and he…" He broke off, emitting strangled sobs. Then he spoke again, and this time his voice was flat, even, dangerous.

"He made you pretty," he said. "You don't deserve to be pretty. But you were pretty." He turned suddenly, his teeth gleaming as he grinned, a maniacal glint in his eye. "_You can't be pretty. You must be punished._"

Her eyes widened as she saw what he held. A half-scream, half-wail tore from her throat – a horrible sound to hear, a sound that would have instilled pity in any heart but his. Lunging forward, he seized her by the hair and raised the whip.

Outside, dark clouds rolled closer, and a crash of thunder drowned out her first scream.

OoOoOoOoO

Erik didn't know what to do. Now that he was at the beach, all he did was stand on the sand, staring off across the ocean as the storm clouds rolled overhead. Thunder crashed nearby, but he didn't move.

"Winter…" he murmured. Then, again. "WINTER!"

Her name faded away into the distance, without even so much as one echo to mock his grief as he fell to the sand, silent sobs wracking his body as he mourned the loss of the one thing that had given him the will to live when he thought he had nothing left to live for.

He stayed that way for hours, even after the rain began to fall. Drenched to the bone, cold, exhausted from crying, he finally fell asleep on the beach. And that was how Mademoiselle Swann found him when the storm had passed: lying prone on the sand, apparently either unconscious or lightning-struck.

Emitting a short scream, she ran towards him and fell to her knees by his side. As she reached out to touch him, a hand shot out and grabbed one of her wrists. Erik's eyes flew open, blazing dangerously in the dim light of the morning.

"Don't."

She shuddered. "But, M. Erik…I thought you were dead…"

He sat up and stared out across the ocean. "No. I will not die. I have a reason to live, you know. Until I know for certain that she's dead…"

By this time, Marie had learned that Winter had fallen overboard, so she knew what Erik was talking about. She was dying to ask him questions about his last comment before leaving the inn - the statement about the "Phantom's wrath' - but she knew that now was not the time. As she watched him sitting there, gazing out across the waves, a thought came to her. Carefully, hesitantly, she reached out her hand again.

"I know…of a place…" she began cautiously. He looked at her, his eyes imploring her to continue. "It's a cave, not far from here, that has an entrance that opens onto a beach." She laid her hand gently on his shoulder. "Many people have washed up there…some too late, but the majority…"

Erik was already on his feet and assisting her to hers. "Show me this place."

As soon as he caught sight of the cave, he ran ahead and burst through the entrance, his heart swelling with hope. He entered a large area with a sandy floor, which opened out onto a large hole in the rock with a view of a small bay that let out into the sea. At first, he was devastated to find no one, but then he saw it. A blue ribbon, lying on the sand. Darting over, he snatched it up and inspected it.

"It's Winter's," he breathed. "She's been -" He broke off when his eyes fell upon the sand that the ribbon had been lying on.

It was stained, with a dark russet substance that he recognized only too well. Blood.

Swiftly, his mind put two and two together. At the same moment Marie entered the cave, he turned to her, the ribbon wrapped around his wrist.

"It's him. He's found her."

"Who's he?" Marie asked. Erik shook his head.

"I don't know. A man…he's been appearing a lot lately. Following us. He was the same man on the boat, I'm sure of it. He's connected to Winter in some way…and he's found her." His gaze darted from the ribbon to the stained sand and back to her. "Paris."

"…I beg your pardon?"

"Paris. He's got to be in Paris. That's where he was most of the time before. He must have followed us here. I have to go back."

Marie stared at him. "Monsieur Erik, don't you think you might be jumping to conclusions?"

He fixed his most intimidating glare on her. "Winter is out there with someone who intends her harm. I am going to find him, and I am going to hurt him as badly in every way as he has hurt her. Now, let's return to the inn."

OoOoOoOoO

The daroga was, to say the least, somewhat surprised when Darius entered his study at 2 o'clock the following afternoon and announced a visitor. Wondering who it could be, he stood up and ordered Darius to bring the man in. Darius did so.

"Erik! What on earth – why are you here? I thought you were on vacation! Where's Winter?" Then the daroga noticed how horribly thin and weak Erik looked. "Great Scott, man, what's got into you? What's wrong?"

Erik stood with one hand on the doorframe. "Daroga. He's got her. He's got her and there's nothing I can do. I can't find her…I need your help." He stepped forward and opened his hand. "Do you recognize this?"

The daroga moved closer and looked down at the object balancing on the Phantom's palm. "No. But I do know that it's a seal ring, fairly expensive by the looks of it." As he reached out to take it, Erik swayed dangerously, and the daroga looked at him in alarm.

"Are you alright?"

Erik smiled. "Traveled all last night and half the day to get here, daroga. No food, no drink, no sleep…not that that's abnormal for me. I'll be fine." And as the daroga took the ring, Erik fell to the floor in a faint.

OoOoOoOoO

She sat across from her father in the carriage. His chin rested on his chest, and he was apparently asleep. She watched him for a time before turning her head and staring out of the window at the passing scenery. Since there was nothing else to do, she reached back into her mind and tried to pull out the distant memories that had somehow become at least partially suppressed – most likely by her sudden recovery from her amnesia, along with her fear of her father. She frowned as she worked on extracting the memories. One of them was a song – a song that she had sung, one evening, at a place called The Tom-Cat Inn. With a fearful glance at her father, she opened her mouth and began to sing quietly.

"_**Dancing bears, painted wings,**_

_** Things I almost remember,**_

_** And a song someone sings**_

___**Once upon a December.**_" An image began to form in her mind: a tall, thin man, wrapped in a black cloak, wearing…a mask?

_"__**Someone holds me safe and warm,**_

___** Horses prance through a silver storm,**_

___** Figures dancing gracefully**_

___** Across my memo -**_"

She broke off as her father lunged forward and struck her a violent blow across the face that sent her sprawling onto her seat. "DON'T SING THAT!" he roared. "You do not speak unless I give you permission, and under no conditions do you _sing_. Is that understood?!"

She said nothing, only nodded, tears slipping soundlessly out from under her closed eyes and falling down her cheeks as she laid across the seat. Finally, she slipped away from the outside world and into a land of dreams, where no one wanted to hurt her and one man kept her safe from all harm…a masked man, with a beautiful voice and a dark past…

An indeterminable amount of time later, she was shaken roughly awake by her father. Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and realized faintly that they had arrived at their townhouse.

"Hurry up and come on," her father snapped. "You need to get cleaned up. Mademoiselle Henrietta Moreaux is expecting me shortly, and your current state simply won't do."

Once inside, she was taken upstairs by servants who then stripped her and put her in a bath. They showed no mercy as they scrubbed her wounded back, but she knew better than to cry out. She bit her lip until it bled, trying not to cry.

When that was done, they got her out of the bathtub and put her in a cream-colored robe. Then, she sat in front of a mirror without moving as they combed out her long, mercury-colored hair and did it up in a loose braid. Then she heard them open scissors and cut it off. She showed no emotion as they laid the braid of hair on the table in front of her.

They then started to tidy the rest of her hair up, clipping and snipping at it. As she watched them in the mirror, they rubbed brown dye into her hair, then combed pomade into it and brushed it back so that she looked like a boy. Then they took her and dressed her in male clothing: polished black boots, long black pants, and a white poet's shirt, laced up the front. She stared at herself in the mirror, not recognizing the person before her. She looked completely different. A dark-haired young boy, with blue eyes that looked completely empty.

The door opened, and she didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She ventured a question. "Father, why did you have the servants do this to me?"

"Because," he responded curtly, "there is a man who may be searching for you, and if you are disguised thus, he will not be able to find you." His image appeared behind hers in the mirror. "Hmm. You're much better-looking as a boy. I think that I shall keep you this way after we return from our visit from Mlle. Henrietta's." His hand rested on her head for a moment, then clenched into a fist and jerked upwards, bringing some of her hair with it. "And while we're there, don't you _dare_ pull any of your freakish little tricks, you hear? No changing your voice. No talking to _anybody_, unless they ask you a question. And above all, _do not sing_!"

He released her hair and grabbed her hand. "Come. We're expected."

_OoOoOoOoO_

Mademoiselle Henrietta had a surprise. Ever since having met M. Audric's young son, whose name she had, oddly enough, never learned, she had wanted to do something to cheer the boy up. He had seemed so sad and quiet – Audric had said that it was because he got teased because of his girlish appearance. After much thought and planning, the young and immensely rich woman had come up with the idea of holding a masquerade ball at the Paris Opera House – oddly enough, the place where she and Audric had first met.

She let out a quiet, dreamy sigh as her carriage drove along towards the Opera House. She wondered if Audric was also thinking of that fateful night when he had come to visit her in her box.

Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt, and a few moments later, her door was opened and the driver poked his head inside.

"We've arrived, milady," he said politely. "Can I help you down?"

She was about to consent, when the driver was gently pushed out of the way and Audric himself appeared in his place. "I think I would find more joy in the action," he said languidly, then addressing Henrietta: "If I may, Mlle. Moreaux?"

"Of course," she said primly, and allowed him to assist her from the carriage. Once she was standing on the ground, she observed his costume.

"Oh, Audric, you look stunning! What are you dressed as, a highwayman?"

"You've hit it on the nose," he chuckled, drawing a black silk mask from one of the pockets of his coat and slipping it over his head. "And now, if you will allow me to kidnap you and demand the first dance of the evening…?"

She giggled like a little girl. "Of course! But where is your son?" she inquired. Audric rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Ah, that little scoundrel, always wandering off somewhere. Hoy, you!" he called. "Over here, now!"

The young boy came walking up to them, and Henrietta gasped and placed her gloved fingers delicately to her lips.

"Oh, my! Aren't you just adorable!" she cooed. Winter, still masquerading as a boy, managed a faint smile. "You must have the cutest costume at the masquerade ball!"

She was dressed as a kitten. The dye had been removed from her hair so that it returned to its natural color – everyone there who had seen her prior to that evening would probably assume it was a wig – and a stiff band with fake white kitten ears rested on top of her head. She was wearing a white shirt, pants, shoes, and gloves, and a white belt with a kitten tail on the back, along with a white cat mask, completed the picture.

"Mlle. Moreaux has paid you a compliment. Now, be a good little kitten and meow for her." Audric's tone was joking, but she knew he meant every word of it. She turned her gaze on Henrietta and let out a quiet "meow".

_"_Oh, you're just so adorable! Come along, I want to show you to everyone." Hooking her arm through Audric's, Henrietta walked away, chatting happily with the man while Winter trailed after them.

She didn't remember that someone had used to call her Winter, of course; as far as she knew, she had no name. She knew there was something buried deep in her mind, something underneath all the memories of pain and fear, but every time she tried to reach it, her father found out and stopped her, so she had left off trying. Anyway, even if she did have a name once upon a time, she didn't seem to have one now. Her father called her everything from "brat" to "you little monster", and nowadays "boy" and "child", but she had yet to hear an actual name directed at her issue forth from his lips.

They had arrived in the main ballroom. It was enormously huge and grand, with lots of sparkling chandeliers, gently glowing candles, and people! So many people! She stood and stared at them in awe until her father ordered her to take a seat, so she meandered off in search of one.

She ended up going up a set of stairs and moving onto a balcony that overlooked the main ballroom. Leaning against the railing, she looked down at all the people and felt safe – safe from everyone so far below her. That was probably why she had always liked heights, she reflected thoughtfully; a great deal of people disliked them, her father included, so she always felt safer and somehow protected when she was up high. It also proved to her – in her mind at least – that no matter what, she would never be like her father. While her father was a manipulating rat who stayed on the ground and attacked innocent, helpless things and people – like Mademoiselle Moreaux, for instance – she went up to high places and stayed there, like a bird. She paused, frowned – no, not like a bird. More like a snowflake, because no matter how high up she started the day, she always had to come back down to earth, where she became one of many, ignored by the world around her.

As she sighed heavily, she suddenly became aware that someone was behind her. Turning quickly, she found herself staring up at a tall, foreign man without a mask or costume. She stared at him. He stared back. Then, finally, he spoke.

"…Winter?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid you must have the wrong person," she said. "I'm not -"

"No, it is you," he interrupted. "I recognize your voice. Don't tell me you don't remember."

"I don't know who you are!" she exclaimed. "I'm not this 'Winter' person. Now I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to talk to strangers. If you'll excuse me..." She tried to move past him, but he stepped in her path and, reaching out, gripped her shoulder, forcing her to stay still.

"Your name is Winter," he said slowly and steadily. "We have a mutual friend, you and I, a friend named Erik. He's tall, thin, and wears a black mask."

The image of the tall masked man flickered across her mind. "I remember his appearance, a little," she said uncertainly.

"Then that means you do remember – somewhere, deep inside. Please, try to remember, Winter!"

"My name isn't Winter!"

"It's the name Erik gave you," the man insisted with a quiet sense of desperation in his voice, his expression, his entire manner. "Look, whatever that man you came here with told you – whatever he's done to you – it doesn't matter. You've got to remember. I'm not going to take you away against your will, but please, please remember!"

"Remember what?" she said, her voice rising as she became near hysterical. "What do you want me to remember?"

"Oh, no," he said, suddenly becoming distressed, "I'm frightening you, aren't I?" Releasing her abruptly, the man stepped back and knelt down so that he was roughly at her height. "Look at me, Winter. You know me. I am the daroga. You came over to my flat with Erik and helped my servant Darius make dinner. You got a bloody nose in the kitchen, remember?"

Involuntarily, she closed her eyes and dug deep into her mind. An image flickered across her mind – a large puddle of blood on the floor. Her hands – bloody. A masked man – the masked man – pinning another man against the wall.

"You were there," she said softly. "And he – the masked man – he was angry…because I was hurt."

The daroga nodded. "Yes, you were hurt. You ran away, remember? Out into the street."

She did remember. Now other memories started coming: her making a cake with the masked man. Having lunch on the roof of somewhere with the masked man. The masked man – no mask now – sitting on the floor crying. She realized with a jolt that she was crying too, tears running down her face behind her mask. Then she realized with another jolt that she remembered it all – everything.

The daroga knelt in front of her, watching her intently like a hawk. "Winter?" he asked tentatively, then gasped as she flung herself at him and buried her face in his shirt.

"Daroga! I want to go home!" she sobbed. "I want Erik! I WANT ERIK!"

"Hush, it's going to be fine," he said, stroking her hair. "It's going to be fine. That's what I'm here for. Erik sent me here to look for you. He's at my flat, he came down with a cold so he couldn't come, but I'm here and I'm going to -"

"Hey, you! Step away from him!"

The daroga's gaze snapped to the staircase. Audric was running up it towards them, taking the steps two at a time, rage blazing on every feature of his face. Pushing Winter away, the Persian stood up and placed the girl behind him.

"No. She's not going with you," he said steadily. "She's afraid of you. Get away."

"I think you'll find," Audric snarled, "that that little brat is going with me!" And as the daroga reached into his coat to draw his pistol, the man dashed forward and slammed a fist into his face. Then he grabbed Winter by the hair and dragged her off down the stairs, the little girl screaming and fighting the entire way.

On the ballroom floor, Mademoiselle Henrietta came rushing up to him. "Audric, what's the matter? Why is your son screaming? Did he do something wrong? Is he injured?"

"Mademoiselle," Audric said in a harsh, grating voice, "I suggest you come with me and do exactly as I tell you. And you, brat!" He shook Winter violently. "Stop your screeching, or I will shoot her. Understand?"

Winter did, and shut up immediately. Shocked, Henrietta stared at Audric and suddenly realized that he was pointing a small pistol at her head.

"You're insane!" she gasped. He grinned.

_"_I prefer to think of it as 'incredibly intelligent', mademoiselle. It's much less insulting to me that way, don't you think?"

As they went through the enormous double-doored entrance of the Opera House, some people in the ballroom started towards them, but all Audric had to do was cock the pistol and they fell back again. The madman, the girl, and the grown woman walked down to the sidewalk and got into Henrietta's carriage unchallenged.

Up on the balcony, the daroga had not been knocked unconscious – he was only dazed. Now he finally drew himself together and ran down the stairs. Racing across the ballroom floor, he burst out of the open doors and into the cool night air just in time to hear Audric order the carriage driver to go to 321 Dubois Street. Realizing that he would never catch up with them on foot, the daroga looked after the carriage for a moment, then spurred himself into action. Leaping into a cab, he ordered the driver to the same address that he had overheard Audric give, and they were off.

OoOoOoOoO

Erik was taking a catnap in the daroga's library when Darius came in and shook him awake. The Phantom snapped awake and ran a hand through his hair.

"What is it?" he asked, coughing lightly. The servant bowed shortly before responding,

"You have a visitor, sire, waiting in the foyer."

Erik frowned. "Send him in."

"She's a female, sire."

He stared at Darius for a moment before dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Send _her_ in, then."

Darius bowed and left the room. Moments later, the study door opened. Erik, who had gotten up and been inspecting the contents of one of the daroga's bookshelves, turned around – and stared at the woman who was standing in the doorway.

_"_Hello, Erik," said Christine, twisting her gloves nervously in her hands. "Um…I've been looking for you."

"Have you." His tone was flat. She winced.

"Yes…Erik, I've been thinking ever since our last encounter, and, well…I thought you were dead," she finished weakly. His eyes narrowed behind his mask.

"Did you."

"Yes, I did, and…oh, Erik, don't make this any harder than it needs to be!" she cried impatiently. "I came back because I thought you were dead and I wanted to give you a proper burial. Instead, I found you alive and well, and living with a young girl!"

Erik walked over to the desk and ran one finger along the smooth surface. "Your point?" he inquired, bringing the finger up to his face and inspecting it for dust.

"You know my point," Christine responded hotly. "You are not a suitable mentor – or guardian – for a young girl."

A wry smile twisted his lips. "You used to think differently."

"Erik, don't!" she cried. "Look, you can't keep her. You know you can't."

Erik's head snapped up, his eyes blazing gold in the room's dim light. "No, I'm afraid I'm ignorant of that fact. Kindly explain to me, Christine, why I cannot continue to live with a girl whom I adore."

Christine shook her head. "You adored me, too," she said softly. "Please, Erik, I beg of you. Let her come live with me and Raoul – she will be brought up as though she were our own -"

"You speak of her as though she was a favorite pet of mine," Erik broke in scornfully. "I cannot 'keep' her, you say? As though she were a dog or a cat whom I am forced to keep a leash on for fear that she might escape?"

"You did the same to me -"

"What I did to you, Viscomtess -" he spat the title out, his distaste obvious in his tone of voice – "is in the past. What I did to you is ancient history. You made your choice. You left and married the viscomte. I bear you no ill will for that. I gave you my consent, with all my heart." His voice became softer as he went on. "But now you come to me – track me down – and demand that I give up the greatestjoy in my life, the little girl who gave me the will to continue living." His eyes met hers. "That, madame, I cannot do."

"You can," she said, her voice pleading. "You must. Please, Erik, think of the child! You cannot possibly desire for her to grow up five stories underground, without an education, without friends!"

"That choice is for Winter to make," he said gently. "I may even move aboveground, in order for her to have all of those things. But you, madame, have no say in the matter."

"Erik," she tried again. He regarded her with a stern gaze.

_"_Christine," he said, and did not fail to notice that her name coming from his lips made her wince ever-so-slightly. "I not only cannot give Winter up to you. I will not. And once I find her, you will never, ever take her away from me." His voice sunk to a barely audible whisper. "If you do, it will be only over my dead body." A smile flashed across what was visible of his features. "And remember, Viscomtess, the dead have a way of coming back to life. Especially if they were already ghosts to begin with."

Christine had paled considerably during the latter part of his speech, and now she spoke one last time. "Erik. Please. If you truly love the child, you will allow her to be properly raised by a loving foster family -"

This time, it was not Erik who cut her off, but rather Darius, who came running full tilt into the room and skidded to a halt between the two of them.

"Erik, sir! There is a cabby outside, he bears a message from the daroga!"

"What is it?" Erik asked sharply.

"It is urgent that you come at once to 321 Dubois Street. He has found Winter, but he has reason to believe that her life as well as that of a young noblewoman are in grave danger."

Almost before the servant was done speaking, Erik was out the door of the study and on his way to the foyer, where he donned his cloak, gloves, and hat and had the door half open when, suddenly, Christine grabbed his cloak from behind.

"Erik, wait! Come with me in my carriage, it will be faster."

He glanced at her. "Very well, but this changes nothing." And he darted to her elaborate carriage which was waiting in the street, dismissing the cab with a wave of his hand. Christine climbed in beside him, gave the address to the driver, and they were off.

The carriage had barely stopped in front of the townhouse before Erik was out and running up the steps. Ringing the doorbell, he waited impatiently until the door was opened by the butler, a tall middle-aged man with a brown mustache.

"Hello, sir, can I -"

"I need to speak to the owner of this residence. Immediately."

Despite the fact that Erik's voice and manner were decidedly threatening, the butler stood his ground. "I'm afraid M. Audric is occupied at the moment. In fact, he informed me quite explicitly that he did not desire to be disturbed at any time during the day."

"I don't give a hoot what he told you, I will see him."

Behind Erik, Christine touched his sleeve. "Erik, come with me. She can't be in any immediate danger, we'll come back la -"

Just then, a commotion inside the house drew Erik's attention. Yelling issued from the top of the staircase, there was the sound of a gun being fired, and then a young boy in a white kitten costume – minus his mask – came racing down the stairs and paused on the landing, staring at the people in the doorway. Then he screamed,

"ERIK!"

Erik stared at him. "Winter?!"

Winter, for it was she, started down the rest of the staircase, but just then Audric came vaulting down the steps and grabbed her by the hair. Forgetting propriety and protocol, Erik sprang forward with an angry snarl, knocking the butler aside as he rushed up the stairs towards the man. Audric saw him coming and drew a pistol from inside his coat.

"NO!" Winter screamed as the bullet discharged. Erik whirled aside at the last moment, but it was too late. The deadly projectile ripped through his cloak and shirt and slammed into his left shoulder, burning with indescribable agony in his flesh. Despite the pain, he ignored it, discarding his cloak with a snarl and heading after Audric, who had picked up Winter and was fleeing up the stairs

At the top of the staircase, Christine, who had been following Erik, stopped and let out a scream. The daroga was lying unconscious on the floor, the leg of his pants soaked in blood and his head resting in Mlle. Henrietta's lap. The young lady looked up at the viscomtess, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Go after them!" she cried. "That man – that man – he's insane, he's mad, he has to be stopped! He wants to – oh, the poor child!" she wailed. "Someone's got to STOP him!"

"Why, what is it? What is he going to do?" Christine demanded. With considerable effort, Henrietta drew herself together and said in a broken voice,

"It is too horrible for me to repeat. All I can say is that someone must stop him very soon or – or that poor child will not live through the day. Now go!" she cried. "I'll take care of this man."

With one last look at the wounded daroga, Christine nodded and fled down the hall in the same direction Erik had gone, Mlle. Henrietta's sobs ringing through the corridor after her.

* * *

**A3:** Yaaay! Cliffie cliffie cliffie! Now you all have to leave reviews or you'll NEVER find out what happens next! (Maniacal laugh)

**Erik:** …I can't believe you had me get SHOT.

**A3:** Oh, get over it. You're not as perfect as you'd like to believe.

**Erik:** (Turns on her) I AM THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA! I AM THE ANGEL OF MUSIC! I! AM! ERIK! And I do NOT - I repeat, I do NOT - get HIT by STRAY BULLETS!

**A3:** Erik...it wasn't a stray bullet. It was aimed at you.

**Erik:** Regardless, it shouldn't have happened! Now -- go write the next chapter! And something had better be done about that bullet in my shoulder!

**A3:** Hey, the daroga got shot too! Aren't you the LEAST bit worried about him 

**Erik:** He's a character from the book, and as such, he is unimportant to me because I am the ALW movie Phantom.

**A3:** SO? What are you saying? That you're SUPERIOR because you're from a MOVIE and he's an ORIGINAL book character?

**Erik:** ...Well, I have more phangirls, don't I?

**A3:** Your ego frightens me, some days.

**Erik:** It's not my EGO. I just don't get out much.

**A3:** Riiiiiight. Well, anyway. (Turns to readers) Please -

**Erik:** Nar...may I please say it? This IS one of the last chapters...and I haven't gotten to do it yet...

**A3:** You have, too! At the end of one of the earlier chapters! I think!

**Erik:** You mean the one when you were having a tantrum and I had to reply to reviews for you?

**A3:** (Twitch) ...Never mind. Just say it.

**Erik:** Very well. (Turns to readers) Please review!


	14. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** HI! I'm back! Do please forgive me for the ridiculously long wait…I posted that last chapter and then got writer's block. (Twitch) Yeah. Very bad timing, that. But I'm posting it NOW, so…rejoice. :)

**Disclaimer:** Leroux and Webber own everything except the stuff that's _mine_. Like Winter. Now that that's out of the way, ON WITH THE STORY!

OoOoOoOoO

Winter writhed in her father's arms, kicking and flailing and screaming Erik's name over and over again. Finally, her father dropped her and, pinning her to the floor, yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it into her mouth. Then he picked her up again and continued on his way.

At the top of the stairs on the fourth floor, Erik caught up to them. Winter's eyes widened at the sight of him. His golden eyes were blazing with undisguised hatred and rage. His dark hair was tousled, and his formerly pristine white shirt had a bloodstain spreading unhindered across it. He held in his hand the Punjab lasso. Audric glanced at it, back at Erik, and then laughed.

"You really think that you can take me out with that measly piece of rope? You are pathetic. Besides, what you're doing is against the law. She's _my_ daughter! Do you hear me? MINE! And you can't take her from me!"

Erik snarled and ran at him, but Audric was already gone. Running a short distance down the hall, he stopped and, reaching up, removed a candle from its holder on the wall, which instantly twisted open and closed again, taking Audric and Winter with it.

Erik slammed a fist against the wall in anger and then nearly collapsed as the world spun wildly around him. Black spots clouded his vision, and he was barely able to recover from the extreme vertigo. In addition to the dizziness, the pain in his shoulder had increased considerably. He knew he had to stop the bleeding soon, or he would die.

But such things were not at the front of his mind just then. Only one thing consumed his mind, his reason, his entire being: Winter. And now she was –

No. He glanced up at the wall. There was another candlestick in a holder. And it just made sense that that one might do the same thing as the other one…

"Monsieur," Erik purred, "it's quite a pity that you had to pick a game I know so well." And reaching up, he removed the candlestick from its holder.

OoOoOoOoO

Once the wall had spun around and clicked back into place behind them, Audric dumped Winter on the floor and strode over to use his candle to light a torch on the wall. Removing the torch from its holder, he turned around.

Winter was gone.

"What – come back here, you little brat! Where are you?"

There was no answer. Audric tried a different tack.

"Darling…please come out…I won't hurt you…"

"Look behind you," was the response. It sounded like she was close enough to be breathing down his neck – if she were tall enough, that is. He whirled. She wasn't there.

"What the - " He strode forward and whisked the cloth off of a table. "You monster!"

"Why would I be hiding there?" came her voice from beside him. "It's too obvious," said another object draped in a white dust cloth. He ripped the cloth off, revealing the object to be a statue of a lion.

"I'll find you, you little brat," he growled, "and when I do, I'll give you pain that you can't even imagine."

"Erik will save me," came the voice again, though slightly shaky this time. Audric ripped another cloth off of an object.

"Stop with your unearthly voice-throwing and show yourself!" he roared. His voice echoed through the dark room. When the echoes died away, there was silence. Then:

"No. I'm not ever going to go with you again. I want Erik. Erik is my father now."

"He's a masked man who lives in an opera house," Audric sneered. "There's nothing normal about him, not like me."

"Don't say things like that!" Winter cried, then bit her tongue. In her haste to defend Erik, she had forgotten to throw her voice. But it was too late. In the next second, her father had ripped the cloth off of the chair she had been hiding in. Grabbing her by the hair, he placed his gun under her chin and snarled,

"I ought to just kill you now and make sure that you don't trouble me ever again, brat!"

Winter whimpered and stared up at him with terror-filled blue eyes – blue eyes that, he noticed irritably, matched his perfectly. He snarled and dug the business end of the pistol deeper into the flesh beneath her chin, forcing her to tilt her head back until it was almost painful. His other hand held the torch dangerously close to her hair. Winter closed her eyes, waiting for whatever he planned to do to her.

And that was how Erik found them when he entered the hidden chamber.

OoOoOoOoO

When Erik saw the position that Winter was in, he was tempted to run straight towards her and knock the gun from Audric's hand. But even in his current state, he wasn't stupid. Such actions would more than likely end up getting Winter shot. So, instead, he slipped away into the shadows.

What he didn't know was that Audric had heard the wall turning, and had guessed that it was Erik. Now, the madman leaned over the girl and said,

"So, tell me about this Erik. What's he like?"

Winter had also heard the wall move, and was hoping beyond hope that it was Erik. So she responded a little louder than she might have normally: "He's wonderful."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, for one thing, he doesn't beat me," she said. Audric growled,

"I wouldn't say that sort of thing if I were you, brat. One wrong motion of the hand could send you up in flames." He indicated the torch with a flick of his gaze.

Winter's lower lip quivered, but she didn't cry. Instead, she asked quietly,

"Why do you hate me so much?"

Audric stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why do you hate me so much?" she repeated. "You hate me, you've always hated me! You've hated me for as long as I can remember! _Why_?!"

"I don't have to answer that -"

"Yes you do!" she cried, becoming hysterical. "Tell me! Tell me why you hate me!"

Growing irritated, Audric pushed the gun into her chin a little more. She became instantly quiet. Breathing hard, her father addressed her.

"Lenore. Yes, Lenore. That was your name, you know, once upon a time, but I like the sound of 'brat' so much better." He inhaled sharply. "I would have named you that, but no. On her deathbed, your mother – a beautiful woman – she said to me, she said, 'Audric, darling, name her Lenore. After me.' That's what she said. She also told me to take care of you – to feed you, to clothe you, to take you to a doctor's if you fell ill.

"And then you started ruining my life. I thought I had found true love again, I really did, but then you had to go pull some child's trick like putting a frog in her dress. A _frog_ – for goodness' sake, she was your _governess_! She was _teaching_ you!"

Winter felt herself slipping back into her memories. She remembered this governess – a tall, cold lady who always dressed in black. "She wasn't a nice lady," she murmured faintly. "She was mean. She used to hit me if I got the answers wrong. I got into her desk drawer after I heard you saying you wanted to marry her. She had written a letter to her friend…all she wanted was your money…she didn't care about you. Or me."

"That's a lie," Audric seethed. "You're making that up!"

Winter blinked and smiled softly at him. "That's what you said back then," she said in the same faint voice. "You said…the same thing…and that's when you started to get mean. After she left, that's when you hit me for the first time…and then a few days later, I spilled your paints. You hit me and you wouldn't stop." A tear rolled down her cheek. "You just…kept…hitting me…and I screamed and cried and begged you to stop…but you wouldn't stop…you wouldn't _stop_!" She was sobbing now. "You used to be so nice! I used to _know_ you! What happened to you? What _happened_? I want my father back! You're not my father!" And without warning, she lashed out and slapped him across the face. He clapped a hand to his cheek and stared at her in disbelief as she continued to scream. "You're not my father! YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER!"

"Enough!" Audric roared finally. When she still didn't stop, he used the pistol to shove her head back until she screamed from the pain. "STOP IT!" he shouted. "Be QUIET! Or I'll MAKE you be quiet!"

Winter was immediately silent. But she was only able to bear the pain for so long. After a few minutes, she let out a half-choked sob.

Instantly, Audric cocked the pistol and moved his finger to the trigger. At the same time, Erik leapt out of the shadows and slammed bodily into Audric, who screamed as he fell to the floor. Erik snarled as he noticed that the man had managed to somehow keep hold of the gun. He tried to knock the pistol out of Audric's hand, but the man kept a firm grip on it.

All of a sudden, Audric twisted his body violently, catching Erik off-balance. The two men rolled over so that Audric was now on top and Erik was beneath him. The madman placed the pistol to the Phantom's forehead.

"I'm tempted to look behind your mask before I kill you," he purred, "but I don't think it can be any worse than what you'll look like after I blow your face off."

A low chuckle came from behind him, and then Erik's voice said, "Is that so, monsieur?"

"What?" Confused, Audric looked behind him and saw Winter standing there. She had used her special talent to imitate Erik's voice in order to distract him. She lashed out with a foot and kicked him in the face. Howling with pain, Audric fell back, clutching at his nose. Erik was on his feet in a flash, but Audric, despite the pain he was in, was just as fast. He had dropped the gun when Winter had kicked him, and now it lay at the girl's feet. Audric, Winter, and Erik all glanced at it. Then Winter bent down to grab it, and Audric dove for it at the same time. Erik leapt forward and then was struck by a dizzy spell that left him reeling and only faintly aware of the sound of a gunshot echoing through the room.

"Winter…" he whispered, and then he passed out.

OoOoOoOoO

When he regained consciousness, he was aware of the sound of somebody moving about the room. He moved; a dull, throbbing ache accompanied the motion. He remembered getting shot. And then…

"Winter!" He sat bolt upright, and his vision was instantly flooded by a swarm of black spots. As they slowly cleared, he blinked and looked around the room, more slowly this time. The person who had been moving about the room was crouching in front of him. He squinted at her. Christine.

"Where," he grated through clenched teeth, "is Winter?"

"Erik, you need to get some rest," she said gently. "You're not well -"

"Where is she?" he demanded, swinging his legs around and standing up. He closed his eyes against the spots this time. "Take me to her."

"Erik, lie down!" Christine ordered him.

"Not until I see Winter."

"You've been shot. You must rest."

"Tell me where Winter is," Erik ordered her. She sighed.

"Alright. I'll make a deal with you. If you get at least a good night's sleep, I will tell you everything that happened."

Erik shook his head. "No, there's something you're not telling me. You would answer my questions otherwise. What happened to her?" He strode rapidly towards the door, jerked it open, and was overwhelmed by vertigo. As he sank slowly to the floor, he was aware of Christine sighing and murmuring gently,

"Poor Erik…poor, poor Erik."

* * *

**A3:** BWAHAHAHAHAHA! It's the Cliffhanger of Doom!

**Erik:** Did you…did you _kill_ her?

**A3:** Like I'd tell you. That would spoil the cliffhanger.

**Erik:** (Pulls out Punjab lasso) Tell me what happened to her. NOW.

**A3:** Um...no.

**Erik:** (Growls) You are so DIFFICULT!

**A3:** And proud of it. Now, then. Why don't you go check my inbox for reviews?

**Erik:** Why would I do that? You just posted the chapter.

**A3:** Yes...but...I'm sure LOTS of people will send in reviews. (Winning smile) Won't y'all?

**Erik:** (Sigh) Please review. It will make her happy. And...it'll make me happy too. Because reviews speed up the writing process and the next chapter will be posted much faster. (Glowers at A3) I'M reading this story too, you know.

**A3:** Yes...well...that's all the screen time we have for now. Bye!

**Erik:** Farewell. And a belated Merry Christmas.

**A3:** And happy New Year's!


	15. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: **Greetings, earthlings. This is, I regret to inform you, the final installment in the _Erik's Little Winter_ story. Well, it's been fun. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine. Except the stuff that is mine. And that's not a lot...sadly. Oh well.

* * *

When Erik awoke again, Christine was not in the room with him. However, somebody else was. 

"…Daroga?"

The Persian smiled wryly. "Hello, Erik."

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I don't know. Probably the same thing I've been doing for the past week, which would be keeping an eye on you."

"Wait…does that mean we are no longer at the de Chagny's home?"

"Yes. I obtained the physician's permission to move you here, to my flat."

Erik was silent for a moment. Then he asked quietly, "Where is Winter?"

The daroga stiffened visibly. "Erik -" He was cut off when a slender, long-fingered hand clutched his throat.

"_Tell me where she is_."

The daroga took hold of Erik's thumb and bent it backwards until the Phantom released his throat. Stepping out of his reach, he said,

"I'll tell you when you're better."

"I _am_ better! Now tell me where she is!"

"Erik, I -"

"Why won't anyone tell me where she is?!" Erik yelled, sitting up and glaring at the daroga, his golden eyes blazing with rage. "I was there. I heard the gunshot. Now tell me what happened to her!"

The daroga grimaced and stood up. "Very well. Though it's not a thing that can be…told, really. You'd have to see it for yourself."

Erik stood unsteadily and braced himself against the wall. "Take me to her."

"Very well." The Persian reached out and picked up the cane that was helping him walk until his leg got better. "Come with me."

OoOoOoOoO

Erik was expecting a worst-case scenario. Something along the lines of Winter hovering on the edge of death, or even worse, being dead already. It was something of a shock to him when he and the daroga got out of the cab they had hailed and he saw that the driver had brought them to an orphanage.

"What…what is this?" he breathed. The daroga sighed.

"Christine did not think you were going to recover. She would have adopted Winter herself, but the viscomte – Raoul – he did not want a daughter. Especially not one raised by you," he added quietly. "So, she had to take Winter here. It is, I've heard, the best orphanage in the city."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Let's find her."

OoOoOoOoO

Winter sat in the corner that she had occupied ever since that woman, Christine, had brought her to the orphanage. The people who worked there could not force her to leave it; every time they tried, she screamed and fought like a wild animal until they let her go back. They brought her food, but she ate little of it. Nobody talked to her; they had tried, but she would only look at them stubbornly and state,

"Erik isn't dead. She said he was but she was lying. Erik isn't dead."

Then they would try to interest her in something – a conversation topic, a game, or some juicy piece of gossip – but she would only repeat the words, over and over again, until they left her alone.

"Erik isn't dead. She said he was but she was lying. Erik isn't dead."

She lurked in the corner all the time, hiding in the shadows, slowly wasting away. She had heard people say that she wouldn't last much longer in that state. A man and a woman had come to talk to her. What she'd seen was Christine and her feminine husband. When the woman had tried to touch her shoulder, Winter had bitten her and started screaming at the top of her lungs that Erik wasn't dead, that she'd lied, that he was coming back for her. It had taken hours to calm her down.

"Just as well," she had heard the woman say. "We didn't really want a cripple anyway."

A cripple. She wasn't a cripple. She could walk just fine. The bullet from the gun had only grazed her foot. It had mainly hit Audric. Her father. No. Not her father. A lunatic. She remembered her father. He had been nice.

She missed Erik.

But she didn't cry. She wouldn't cry. Christine had lied. Erik wasn't dead.

She heard someone in the far corner of the room talking. It sounded like they were talking about her. She listened.

"…girl doesn't talk much, only screams something about a woman lying and how 'Erik isn't dead.' Beats me what it means. There were two people who came to see her, but she bit the woman and was hysterical for hours afterwards. I don't see why you'd take an interest in her." The voice was lowered, but Winter could still make out what the person was saying. "If you ask me, I think she's a little wrong in the head."

Winter dropped her head onto her knees and tried to go to sleep. She didn't want to listen to the person anymore. She heard footsteps approaching her and ignored them. Then she heard a voice.

"Winter."

She didn't look up. _Maybe if they think I'm asleep they'll go away._

"Winter." A pause, then the speaker reached out and shook her gently.

She leapt up and ran at him, clawing and kicking and biting and screaming at the top of her lungs. It wasn't long until she realized that she wasn't getting anywhere. The person was holding her firmly by the shoulders, letting her wear herself out. She slowed down enough to look at him.

_A mask…a black mask…_

"Winter," the man said again, and smiled. "I'm not dead."

She stared at him, then said quietly, "…Erik?"

The smile grew bigger. "Winter."

"ERIK!" She flung herself on him and hugged him harder than she ever had before. He hugged her back, silent tears running down his face as he held her against him.

"Erik! Erik! Erik!" she cried as though she'd never tire of saying it. "She said you were dead! But I knew it wasn't true! I knew she was lying!"

"Well, I wouldn't have found you if it wasn't for the daroga," Erik said with a chuckle, letting her go so she could look at the tall Persian man standing a respectful distance away. She tore over to him and leapt on him.

"Daroga! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You're quite welcome," the man said. "I've been taking care of him, you know."

"Really? Is his shoulder better?"

"Much," the Persian assured her. She grinned and ran back to Erik.

"Good! My foot's fine, by the way," she added. "The gun went off but the bullet just grazed me. Erik, I'm hungry. Can we go home now and eat something?"

The masked man threw back his head and laughed. "Of course we can, _ma __cherie_. Anything you want."

As the trio made their way out of the orphanage, a tall, severe-looking woman stopped them and demanded, "And just where do you think you are going with that child, sir? Are you related to her in any way, shape, or form?"

Erik was about to say something when Winter cut in, blue eyes blazing.

"His name is Erik and he's my father and you'd better leave us alone or I'll kick you hard!!"

The woman stared at her and hastily stepped out of the way. As Erik, the daroga, and Winter walked out onto the sidewalk, Erik stared down at Winter and said,

"Your _father_?"

She looked up at him, blue eyes suddenly filled with worry. "My real father's gone and now I don't have one. You're going to adopt me, aren't you?"

"Er…well…"

"Yes," the daroga cut in with a meaningful glare at Erik, "he is. But that comes later. Now, I believe you said something about being hungry?" The girl nodded. "Then I'm taking you both out to lunch."

Erik blinked. "Oh, daroga, you needn't -"

The Persian winked at him. "Don't worry about it, Erik, you're paying. Consider it compensation for all this time I've spent nursing you back to health."

The Phantom glared at him, then smirked. "Very well. But you realize I'm only doing this for the sake of a hungry child." And he patted Winter on the head.

"Of course you are, Erik." The daroga turned away and looked out of the cab at the passing Parisian pedestrians. "Of course you are."

THE END

* * *

**A3:** And so ends the saga of Erik and Winter. We hope you enjoyed it.

**Erik:** Mm-hmm. Don't forget to leave a review and tell us if you did.

**A3:** (Nudge) Erik, at least ask NICELY.

**Erik:** (Thinks over what he said) _Please _leave a review. There, is that better?

**A3:** Yes, much, thank you. Well, that's all. Goodbye and have a happy New Year's!


End file.
